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FEATURES

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Reading the Signs: Jesus in the Gospel of John B Y A N T H O N Y T. S E LVA G G I O

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Jesus’ Authority B Y R U T G E R-JA N H E I J M E N

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Conflict in the Gospel of John B Y M AT T H E W R I C H A R D

COVER AND FEATURES ARTWORK BY MLC, PHOTOGRAPHY BY RYAN HAYSLIP

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THE GOSPEL OF JOHN. E X P L O R I N G T H E P E R S O N A N D W O R K O F J E S U S C H R I S T. The Gospel of John is a portion of Scripture we often recommend first to new Christians. It has led more people to Jesus than just about any other document, yet it is so complex that its intricacies can never be fully grasped.

This year, every episode and issue of White Horse Inn and Modern Reformation will be mining the riches from this amazing text. Join the conversation, submit your questions, and access free resources at whitehorseinn.org/john.

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DEPARTMENTS 5

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C H R I S T & C U LT U R E

FOCUS ON MISSION

From Shamans to Saints: God’s Providence in the Korean Church

A Review of Insider Jesus: Theological Reflections on New Christian Movements

BY TONY CHANG

B Y B A S I L G R A FA S

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47 BOOK REVIEWS

Not All Dead White Men REVIEWED BY AIMEE BYRD

Letters to the Church REVIEWED BY MIKA EDMONDSON

EX AUDITU

“Call Me Beulah”

The Personality Brokers

B Y S T E V E N D. PAU L S O N

REVIEWED BY LESLIE A. WICKE

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B I B L E S T U DY

B A C K PA G E

Indexing the Women

Desperately Seeking Atonement

BY REBEKAH CURTIS

BY ERIC LANDRY

MODERN REFORMATION Editor-in-Chief Michael S. Horton Executive Editor Eric Landry Managing Editor Patricia Anders Review Editor Brooke Ventura Marketing Director Michele Tedrick

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LETTER from the EDITOR

Anyone who asserts to have authority over us is a danger to our self-willed lives. In his article in this issue, Episcopal minister Rutger-Jan (R-J) Heijmen takes up this difficult question of authority. R-J is also a part of Mockingbird Ministries, where he speaks and writes regularly on issues of Christ and culture.

The third emphasis that we explore in this issue is on the conflict Jesus engenders. Before the crowds turned against him late in his ministry, he had already experienced conflict with the religious leaders—conflict that often centered around false expectations of what the Messiah f all the Gospel writers, John spends would do and who he would be. In his article, the least amount of time on the early Lutheran minister Matt Richard explores that ministry of Jesus. Almost half of the conflict. MR readers who wish to explore how book is taken up by Jesus’ last week. our modern world is in conflict with Jesus would In contrast, the Synoptic Gospels give up to 80 do well to read Pastor Richard’s book Will the percent of their space to the years of ministry Real Jesus Please Stand Up? 12 False Christs prior to Jesus’ triumphal entry, cruci(Concordia, 2017). fixion, and resurrection. Even though Signs. Authority. Conflict. relatively little time is spent on Each theme gives us an interJesus’ early ministry, three emphaesting angle to explore our own “SIGNS. ses emerge from the first chapters of understanding of Jesus. Are we AUTHORITY. John’s Gospel. looking for a Jesus different from First, there are seven signs that give CONFLICT. EACH the one presented to us in John’s structure to John’s retelling of Jesus’ Gospel? What drives our need for THEME GIVES ministry. Each of these signs gives us a Jesus of our own making? What US AN INTERinsight into Jesus’ mission and allows prevents us from fully trusting in ESTING ANGLE us to see how he connects his ministhe biblical Christ? try to the broader story of Israel. On Our hope with this yearlong TO EXPLORE this subject, we are honored to feature exploration of the Gospel of John OUR OWN UNthe fine work of Anthony Selvaggio, a is to enable you to meditate more DERSTANDING Presbyterian minister and author of deeply on the person and work of The Seven Signs: Seeing the Glory of Jesus. For it is only as we believe OF JESUS. ” Christ in the Gospel of John. the Jesus presented to us by the The next emphasis that emerges eyewitness testimony of John in John’s Gospel is on Jesus’ authorthat we can be saved. Take your ity—one who teaches with an authority not time, then, to carefully read and reread the possessed by the scribes or the Pharisees, who articles in this issue. As you do so, may you be in turn demand to know by what authority Jesus renewed in your discipleship and encouraged conducts his ministry. The idea of “authorin your faith. ity” is a difficult concept for modern people to accept—especially in Western culture, which has moved more to center authority in the self.

ERIC LANDRY exec utive editor

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C H R I S T & C U LT U R E

From Shamans to Saints: God’s Providence in the Korean Church

by Tony Chang

f you grew up as a second-generation Korean American Christian, you might find these items in your grandmother’s household: a framed picture of Jesus Christ, calligraphic artwork of Korean sayings, and 1 taeguk ribbons representing the three deities of Korean folk religion. Although you may not have noticed these items when you were younger, they symbolize how both Christian and cultural beliefs may have shaped your upbringing. It may even be that these cultural beliefs are so deeply ingrained in Koreans that they pervade the individual’s understanding of the gospel. One of these cultural beliefs is called han, which has its

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2 roots in Korean shamanism. For the average Korean Christian, han plays a deep yet subtle role in the Christian faith because of its cultural pervasiveness in the family and community.

To show the impact its own cultural heritage has had on the modern Korean church, this article will first describe the role of shamanism in Korea before Protestant missionaries reached the shores of this peninsula. Second, this article will survey the development of Christianity in Korea and address how shamanism influenced its development. Finally, this article will discuss how the modern Korean church has been shaped by shamanism but also highlight how God uses shamanism as a general

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revelatory means to prepare Koreans for special revelation.

KOREAN SHAMANISM AND HAN COLLECTIVISM Before Christianity came to the shores of Korea, one prominent religious belief in the nation was shamanism. In practice, Korean shamanism is “a family-centered religion that conserves the welfare of the family by exorcising the evil spirits, healing the sick in the family and taking 3 care of the ancestor spirits and the deceased.”

In this system, a family member would seek out the local mudang, who acts as the female spiritual intermediary between the spiritual and earthly realms. As the family member describes to the mudang the issues surrounding the household, the mudang is paid to restore the balance between the spirits and the household and to promote the 4 well-being of the family members. The mudang accomplishes this task by releasing the pent-up han that lies in the hearts of the family members.

Now you may be wondering, what exactly is han and how does the mudang release it?

Han is more than just an emotion or a feeling that an individual experiences; it is deeply rooted in the character of Koreans as an entire community. Though there is no English equivalent to han, it can be described as a “mixed feeling of sorrow and regret which is unique 5 to Koreans.” Furthermore, han focuses on the community and emphasizes the shared suffering of the people. Han does not, however, exclusively refer to communal persecution. It also invokes a sense of collective hope because of deep sorrow and resentment. This hope results from the community’s belief that suffering will finally end, calling Koreans to be resilient in 6 the midst of hardship. Along with the collective feeling of suffering, this hopeful character of resilience also unites Koreans together to one day conquer communal persecution.

Han is released by the mudang through performing rituals and rites to appease the spirits

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who are burdening the community. When too much han is accumulated, Koreans believe that the intervention of a mudang is necessary to loosen up the community from han. So for a small service fee, the mudang will release the accumulated han through a shamanic ritual.

This ritual consists of the mudang crying out to the spirits and dancing in ecstasy to quell the angry spirits who are causing turmoil within 7 the customer’s household. But just in case one mudang is unable to fix the family’s problems, the customer might seek out the services of a more spiritually in-tune mudang and pay a higher service fee.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF CHRISTIANITY IN KOREA The tale of missions in Korea begins with one Protestant missionary by the name of Horace Newton Allen. He was an American doctor and the first missionary to Korea who served the emperor of the Chosun Dynasty toward the 8 end of 1884. After him, two Protestant ministers were appointed to Korea as missionaries: Horace Grant Underwood and Henry Gerhard 9 Appenzeller. Through the medical work of Allen and the ministerial work of Underwood and Appenzeller, Protestantism thrived within this tiny peninsula. In the short time that these men were in Korea, they established schools and hospitals run by the church. So instead of paying a mudang to heal people through rituals, Koreans went to these hospitals to be healed of their illnesses for free.

Unfortunately, as tensions between Japan and Russia led to war (1904–05), the United States gradually began to pull its diplomats and missionaries out of the peninsula. The United States “turned a blind eye, having reached an understanding that Japan could colonize 10 Korea.” While this may have been the best political decision, it ignited a nationalist drive within the Korean population who felt agonizing levels of humiliation. By August 1910, Japan

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annexed Korea and considered the church to be a threat to the government.11 In the face of collective humiliation and oppression, the Korean people began to accumulate han. However, instead of going to the mudang to loosen up the han, people turned to the churches to confess their sins and pray for national liberation.

As people filled the pews, Korean ministers preached a type of liberation theology, calling on the congregation to repent and pray to end their oppression. For example: In Pyongyang, Gil Seon-ju called for repentance of personal sin as the first step towards national recovery. He likened Korea to Israel and, like the Old Testament prophets, preached that the country’s sufferings were the result of its own sin and disobedience against God and he called for prayer meetings for the nation. In Seoul, Jeon Deok-gi led thousands of Christians at Sangdong Church in a week of prayer. A “Prayer for the Nation” (Wiguk Gidomun) was to be prayed between 2:00 PM and 4:00 12 PM each day.

Though there is nothing wrong with repenting sin and praying for the nation, Koreans truly believed that performing these acts would liberate them from their Japanese oppressors. The systems placed by the church to have specific times of prayer promoted a reward-system Christianity, where prayer and repentance were the necessary means to reap desired rewards.

Ultimately, they believed that their liberation from their miserable circumstances was dependent on their actions.

Now, assuming that this phenomenon is not what the Protestant missionaries intended, you may wonder how the Christian faith manifested in this way. One scholar reasons that “if shamanism performs the priestly function of 13 comforting the han-ridden minjung, it should be the role of Christianity to comfort han-ridden 14 people and release their han.” In this sense, Christianity took root as the new spiritual

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Christianity [in Korea] took root as the new spiritual reward system, but it did not necessarily encourage a relationship with Jesus Christ.

reward system, but it did not necessarily encourage a relationship with Jesus Christ. Instead, Christianity became the new shamanism, a pastor became the new mudang, sin became equated to han, and the only way to receive God’s blessings was by going to church, constantly praying, and repenting of sin. Although there is nothing inherently wrong with these actions, the Koreans in this context so desperately sought liberation that they were wrongly motivated to do these things.

SHAMANISM: DID IT MUDDLE OR PAVE THE WAY? Given the historical and cultural background of the modern Korean church, there is no doubt that shamanic influences transferred overseas and across generations. Some may even argue that these shamanic influences and cultural beliefs are currently ruining the Korean church. But because shamanism entered the history of Korean beliefs, Christianity was able 15 to take root in the fertile soils of Korea. One might even consider that shamanism was a part of God’s foreordained will and providence for this nation to receive special revelation found in Scripture alone.

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Nonetheless, there are disadvantages of having a shamanic background because of its focus on spiritual and material prosperity. The gospel message as presented to these Koreans does assure them of salvation through Jesus Christ.

However, many believe that on receiving Christ a pure relationship with God must be maintained to live a successful life. To reap the benefits that God has to offer, you must be committed to a church, to prayer, and to giving an offering.

Otherwise, God will not bless you or your family.

You will find this sentiment among the elderly first-generation Korean Christians living in America when you ask them about their faith and the church. When first-generation Korean Christians were asked why they believe the Korean church was not thriving, their answers were simple: not enough prayer, not enough 16 repentance, and not enough committed people.

Some even claimed that God is withholding the 17 bok from this generation because they have been unfaithful, unprayerful, and unrepentant. Most notably, each affirmed that the current generation accumulated too much sin and that more prayer and repentance was needed to remove

As Calvin explains, all of humanity has a sensus divinitatis, which is the general revelation of God’s existence and attributes.

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these sins. They spoke about sin as if it were like han, and the acts of prayer, repentance, and church attendance as the necessary rituals to appease God. It is important to note their beliefs because it is they who are raising up the next generation of Koreans in America, exposing them to these old Korean folklore beliefs along with a Korean shamanic form of Christianity. So now the new generation is faced with either accepting this misunderstood and syncretized form of Christianity or rejecting the seemingly outdated belief, only to leave the church—a phenomenon 18 known as the “silent exodus.”

But despite these disadvantages, there are also many advantages to having shamanism as a precursor to Christianity. As Calvin explains, all of humanity has a sensus divinitatis, which is the general revelation of God’s existence and 19 attributes. The Korean population’s expression of their sensus divinitatis, which in this case is shamanism, highlights how they have 20 a “tacit awareness of God” through general revelation. Just as Paul the apostle stood in the Areopagus and saw that the Areopagites were very religious (Acts 17:22–31), so the missionaries who came from America could no doubt see that the Koreans were very religious as well. They undoubtedly saw how these Koreans sought the services of the local mudang when someone in the community was feeling ill, getting married or buried, or even when their failing crops needed a supernatural boost. The fact that these Koreans believed in greater forces shows how God used shamanism to plow the hearts of this nation for missionaries to plant the seeds of the gospel.

When shamanism fails to save people from their sin and suffering, however, the word of God becomes that much sweeter. As Article II of the Belgic Confession states, “He makes Himself more clearly and fully known to us by His holy and divine Word; that is to say as far as is necessary for us to know in this life, to His glory and 21 our salvation.” As shamanism presented the problem of appeasing greater spiritual forces and failed to correct the problem, the Korean people turned to the churches to hear the word

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of God. Essentially, shamanism primed the Koreans to hear the good news of Christ revealed through Scripture. Thus the general revelatory values found in shamanism complement the special revelation of Scripture.

CONCLUSION Although many may conclude that a shamanic background has ruined the Korean population’s understanding of the gospel, one should consider how shamanism paved the way for the gospel to be received by this hermit nation.

By grasping even a broken understanding of the vast goodness and greatness of God, one can come to realize one's need to be reconciled 22 before him. Ultimately, if God is the One who provides all things through creation and in accordance with his will, it is appropriate to see shamanism as a God-ordained general revelatory means for the Korean population to understand the gospel.

However, for this population to truly enjoy both the riches and the richness of the gospel, they must see beyond the culture in which God has placed them. Although han as a cultural platform may aid Koreans to relate to Christ and his suffering, they must fix their focus on Scripture rather than their own experiences of han. As opposed to just being han-centered Korean Christians, they must become Christ-centered Christians who happen to be Korean. Whether a person is a first- or second-generation Korean, understanding that their own suffering pales in comparison to Christ’s suffering is crucial toward a brighter and spiritually healthier Korean church. When they truly find peace in knowing that Christ’s suffering is perfect and complete and that rewards have already been earned on their behalf, Korean Christians will find greater unity in Christ as opposed to the unity found in their cultural heritage.

TONY CHANG is currently pursuing his Master of Divinity

at Westminster Seminary California. He is under care of the

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Korean American Presbyterian Church (KAPC) and serves as a chaplain candidate for the 314th Military Intelligence Battalion, U.S. Army Reserve.

1. The word taeguk means “supreme ultimate,” and each color represents a deity within the supreme god. Yellow represents humanity, red represents the earth, and blue represents the skies or the heavens. These three deities make up the supreme god, the one who makes up all that is in the universe and is the universe. Sang-il Kim and Young-chan Ro, Hanism as Korean Mind: Interpretation of Han Philosophy (Los Angeles: Eastern Academy of Human Sciences, 1984), 66.

2. David Suh, “Liberating Spirituality in the Korean Minjung Tradition: Shamanism and Minjung Liberation,” Asian Christian Spirituality: Reclaiming Traditions (Ossining, NY: Orbis Books, 1992), 33–34.

3. Suh, 32.

4. Sebastian C. H. Kim and Kirsteen Kim, A History of Korean Christianity (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 9.

5. Chi-Mo Hong, “The Matter of Han in Minjung Theology,” Presbyterian Theological Quarterly 57 (1990): 136.

6. John M. Glionna, “A Complex Feeling Tugs at Koreans,” Los Angeles Times, January 5, 2011, accessed April 10, 2018.

7. Roy E. Shearer, Wildfire: Church Growth in Korea (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1996), 30.

8. Kim and Kim, 62.

9. Kim and Kim, 63.

10 Kim and Kim, 89.

11. Sun-gil Hur, The Church Preserved through Fires: A History of the Presbyterian Church in Korea (Neerlandia, Alberta, Canada: Inheritance Publications, 2006), 66.

12. Kim and Kim, 89.

13. The word minjung means “people” in the Communist sense of the word. Volker Küster, A Protestant Theology of Passion: Korean Minjung Theology Revisited (Leiden: Brill, 2010). It is made up of those who are oppressed by an elite upper class. A. Sung Park, “Minjung Theology: A Korean Contextual Theology,” Indian Journal of Theology 33, no. 4 (October 1984): 1.

14. Suh, 33.

15. Shearer, 31.

16. The first-generation Koreans whom the author has interviewed are from his family as well as from the church he attends. All of those who were interviewed come from a denominational background of Presbyterianism and are all above the age of eighty.

17. The word bok in this context means “blessing.” In other contexts, this word can also mean “reward,” “good fortune,” or even in an idiomatic sense, “permission.” In the Korean mind, to receive bok is crucial to having happiness and success.

18. By the mid-1990s, a number of studies revealed that a large number (70–80 percent) of second-generation Korean-American young adults had left or were leaving their parents’ churches. Some sociologists have even given this startling statistic a name: “the silent exodus.” Julius J. Kim, “Reflections of a Korean-American Presbyterian,” Westminster Seminary California, July 26, 2010, accessed April 10, 2018.

19. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. John T. McNeill, trans. Ford Lewis Battles, vol. 1 (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1960), 35–47.

20. Eric Charles Rust, Religion, Revelation, and Reason (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1981), 18.

21. The Belgic Confession of Faith (1561), Article 2.

22. Michael S. Horton, The Christian Faith: A Systematic Theology for Pilgrims on the Way (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2011), 143.

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EX AUDITU

“Call Me Beulah”

by Steven D. Paulson

ne fine day in Cana, God interrupted a perfectly decent wedding.

He must have had a good reason for doing so; after all, he invented the wedding and took delight in such things. It appears, however, that he was reluctant to interrupt as he says it was not yet his hour. Nevertheless, when his mother gave him no rest, interrupt he certainly did.

About the wedding that day in Cana we know almost nothing. We don’t know what the bride wore. We don’t know how many groomsmen there were. We don’t know the rabbi’s name. We don’t know if the child ring bearer stole the show. We don’t know if they sang “We’ve Only Just Begun.”

We don’t know if they made their own sappy vows.

But we can be sure of one thing: whatever the

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vows were, they had to conclude with one form or another of “till death do us part.”

We also know that God did a remarkable thing that day by interrupting this wedding. He was creating faith in his Son where there was none.

He was planting hope that was not bound even by death. He was under way to make real lovers of people who had barely scratched the surface.

There at Cana, God was consummating his marriage with Israel, and finding a way through to Gentile sinners by giving himself in the Son. He was finding a way to give all that he had and all that he is to an undeserving bride. And that is a remarkable thing: To love the unlovable. For that, God must do a strange work. In John 2:10, the steward at the wedding points it out for us: “Everyone serves the good wine first, and

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then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk.” The steward is not amazed at a magic trick. No doubt, he’s been to plenty of bar mitzvahs with a magician. He is interested and perplexed, however, by Jesus playing the fool. Who serves good wine to people who have already been drinking quite a bit? It’s like taking your finest Chardonnay to a college spring-break party. Who does that? It is wasteful, if you’re a home economist. It is casting pearls before swine, if you’re a connoisseur. The steward is not amazed by magic; he is nonplussed by the economy of mercy. “But you have kept the good wine until now.” A sinner always does this—looks right through the things given for something more. It’s like staring at the gift Jesus is offering of his own self as groom, while wondering what trick he must have up his sleeve. What secret purpose must he be concealing? What does he want from me after all? But John says it right out: He is not hiding; he is revealing glory.

Augustine once said, “We are more where we love than where we live.” We are people who sit on the edge of our seat in tense hope, like a coiled spring; and this God is always ready to interrupt—like when the prophet Isaiah promised Israel that they would have new names. The world would no longer call them names such as “Shemamah,” which roughly translates as “bachelor farmer” or “old maid.” No, they had better names coming, such as “Hephzibah” (which means “My delight is in her”) and “Beulah” (“The land shall be married”). What beautiful names these are! It’s worth studying Hebrew just to be able to say these words from God. These names are names you will be called: Hephzibah (“my delight is in you”) and Beulah (“married”). These are the names you will have (Isa. 62:4).

God was making himself a bride of Israel again. She may not in good conscience have been able to wear white for the wedding, but a bride she would be. Imagine my feeling. A Gentile, like a Ninevite, who doesn’t know his right hand from his left, who is not worthy of so much as a little word from this God, who has stood outside the dance all these years, hit on

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My Jesus keeps whispering sweet nothings in my ear—“You are my beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

by every sleazy Baal in the juke joint, but no Yahweh. Yet I can’t keep silent, because I’ve been claimed out of the “House of the Rising Sun” (a place of ill repute) by one Jesus Christ.

I can’t keep silent about that. I know the difference between Minnesota and Israel. I’m aware of this. I’ve been to Jerusalem, and St. Paul is no Jerusalem. I understand that. I know something about this twenty-first century, and I know it’s not the first century. But I know something else.

My Jesus keeps whispering sweet nothings in my ear—“You are my beloved; with you I am well pleased”—and I can’t keep silent about this one.

I cannot not keep silent about Jesus Christ.

The church, too, has Christ as a loving husband—but not because she is so lovely in herself.

The church is wed to Christ, not when she is displaying her splendor to the world, but when she is sitting at the feet of her Savior, listening to his word until she can’t keep silent any longer, finally convinced in her faith’s heart that she is—that you and I are—Christ’s “Beulah.”

It was for this purpose that a perfectly good wedding was interrupted for what John called “a sign.” Now a sign reveals glory. And glory has to be revealed, because God’s glory in this old world is hidden—whether in the ruined streets of Jerusalem or the little hills of Cana—it is hidden and needs to be revealed. But there, that day, the Holy Spirit was revealing the Son of Righteousness

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to us, preparing to make Israel (and those afterthoughts grafted into the vine, such as you and me) into his bride once and for all. But to get us to the altar for such a wedding is hard work, and only God himself is capable of such patience, such love, and finally, the dying it takes.

God’s search for a bride seems infinitely problematic. After all, what is God to do when no one finds him appealing or when all go looking for better Baals? What is God to do when his lovers look right past him, occupied by the simplest nonsense? Meanwhile, the glory of the Lord passes by without notice. What do you do with people to whom you have plighted your eternal troth, and they look at you as if you have handed them a dead fish? Such a marriage seems infinitely troubled from the start. At the end of our lesson, however, is the real miracle of Cana: His disciples believed in him, and faith was made where there was none.

But what happens when this word found its hearers in the disciples and they believed in him? What does our new groom do? The very next thing we find is Jesus running off, dragging his bride with him to Passover, overturning tables and whipping out the moneychangers from the temple. Some honeymoon this is going to be! For the glory of the Lord appears as a cross in this old world—and the cross appears as anything but glory—so that what God is up to in this wedding is going to be a strange ride.

How did we find ourselves in this situation, puzzling over a Jesus who does things backward and plays the fool? Who gives out the best wine when the partygoers have already had plenty?

The Father giving away his Son in a marriage to a bride who must be the last choice anyone could want—no good job, no good prospects, a loser in every way; carefully having stored up a dowry of sin, death, and the devil and offering it up as if it were sweet perfume; in love with a law that she never once kept? How did we get here?

He interrupted with a promise. That’s how we got here.

In the strange economy of mercy, he takes Israel as his bride and finds a way to the

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nations through her. And how does he do it?

Many have noted that Jesus deals harshly or strangely with his mother. But she is not exempt from faith—she needs a word too, and she knows how to wring it out of him. Take no rest, give him no rest until you get this word and this promise. She obviously has been around him enough to know that when he says something, so it is. She therefore leans over to the servants and says, “Do whatever he tells you.” And there’s your promise, to the Gentiles and to the Jews, in the form of a mother’s advice. He may be unpredictable but do what he says. If he says, “Take the jars and fill them with water,” go ahead and do what he says. If he says, “Destroy this temple and in three days, I will rebuild it”—I wouldn’t bet against it. If he tells you to “take up your cot and walk,” I would advise doing so. If he tells you to go down “to the pool and wash,” it’s worth your time. If he says, “Feed my sheep,” then feed them. If he says, “Your sins are forgiven”—take him at his word. And, finally one day when you find yourself in the grave, stinking and rotten—and you hear Jesus Christ tell you to come out—I would advise you to do as he says. Sleeper, awake, for the bridegroom has come!

He has called you his Beulah—“married”—and when he calls you Beulah, so you are! Write it on your name tag and send it out to the world.

“Call me Beulah, for my name is given by this God in Jesus Christ, and I take him at his word.”

If he wants to say with this word, “I thee wed,” then send for no prenuptial agreement. Take the estate and run! Give him yours, take his, and go! He has called you Beulah, and so you are. Do what he says. You can’t keep silent with this name. And if you are befuddled, if you are shy, if you are retiring or uncertain about the world and this mission that Christ has sent you on, we have given you your opening line to the world: “Call me Beulah.” Amen.

STEVEN D. PAULSON (ThD, Lutheran School of Theology)

is professor of systematic theology at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota.

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Indexing the Women

by Rebekah Curtis

n my final year of college, as my master’s program and wedding approached, The New Yorker magazine came to me. It included a Bob Mankoff cartoon in which an affable lady editor sat at her desk across from a scruffy dude wearing a toga suggestive of Mesopotamia. A manuscript lay between them, and the caption read, “We feel that your female characters are somewhat underdeveloped.”

The wedding took better than the graduate program. Years later, I have seven children but no illustrious career. However, I do have a side hustle: armed with my common sense and ability to meet a deadline, I became a contract indexer for a scholarly Bible commentary series.

An indexer reads a long manuscript, finds the important words, and assembles them into an

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uncomplicated-looking list for the back of the book. Indexing is not lively. Writer Thomas E. Woods says of his experience indexing his own books, “It is an unspeakable task.” It could be spun as intellectual intrigue, but the truth is that picking out and cross-referencing ideas from other people’s books isn’t something anyone dreams of doing when she grows up.

Moreover, while my personal life outs me as being pretty traditional, Mr. Mankoff ’s cartoon still comes to mind when I am indexing.

My feelings are not hurt by the fact that more men than women are named in the Bible. But as an indexer, my brain is hurt by people without names. Indexes are built upon efficiency and clarity. Four Marys in one Gospel really messes with this. “The other Mary”? I guess that’s Mary, Other.

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And all those Marys have names, which is more than can be said for so many other Bible women. For example, here is an excerpt of the “W” section from my draft index for the Concordia Commentary on Mark 1–8:26: Woman who anointed Jesus 43, 52, 67 Woman with issue of blood 43, 46, 50 . . .

Woman with jar of flour 299 Woman, Syro-Phoenician 43, 50, 240 . . .

Here’s how that stretch of Ws looked in the commentary on John 1–6: Woman 163, 180, 475 Woman as address 299, 315–16 Woman, adulterous 374 Woman, barren 398 Woman, Samaritan 7, 173, 195 . . .

It’s not just a New Testament problem. Here’s the 2 Samuel index: Woman 18, 20, 109 Woman, Samaritan 462 Woman of Tekoa 269–73 Woman, wise (of Abel-beth-maacah) 390–91 Pretty un-woke there. To be fair, the following happened in Galatians: James, half-brother of Christ 14, 38, 41 . . .

James, son of Alphaeus 140 James, son of Judas 229 James, son of Zebedee 140, 159, 230 If ever ybody is James, then nobody is.

Nevertheless, in Scripture “name-poverty” is much more common with women than men.

Couldn’t distinct names have been provided to each biblical character simply as a matter of courtesy or good order?

Whereas God is good and orderly, if Scripture withholds a whole bunch of women’s names, it matters. Scripture was not written with an eye toward indexing. It was written with the

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will for all men to be saved and come unto the knowledge of the truth, including women. If we also concede that all Scripture has a teaching, reproving, corrective function for instruction in righteousness, then we’re allowed to ask: What is instructive about not including women’s names?

In old-timey times, I won’t claim to know.

Understanding how people of another time thought requires more than imagination. But if the contemporary mind notices this omission, it cannot be because a good God laid a rock of offense between himself and his redeemed. On the contrary, a fame-crazed people are uniquely situated to receive comfort in the blessings attached to quiet humility. Furthermore, while Scripture has fewer women than men as characters, a book whose protagonist is the Bridegroom would never have become history’s best-seller without a commensurately compelling Bride. The cumulative effect of Genesis 2 and 3, Psalm 45, Song of Songs, Ezekiel 16, Luke 1, Ephesians 5, and Revelation (to list the greatest hits) suggests that biblical femininity is packed by weight, not by volume. “Men are men,” wrote G. K. Chesterton in The Napoleon of Notting Hill, “but Man is a woman.” Scripture bears this out in giving us a great number of men, but a great “amount” of woman.

This is a hard teaching if there is no justice outside of radical parity, no joy outside of joy’s billable hours, and no satisfaction without a number of heroines and names exactly equal to the men. But why has anyone come to want those names so much? Is it so we can have another mascot, another Deborah™ or Miriam®? Hannah’s useful; she works for Infertility© and Quiverfull©. Lydia, hero of the working woman! Mrs. Proverbs 31, hero of the home-business mom! Boudica, Angela Merkel, Wonder Woman—aren’t they basically in the Bible? We could always check the index.

To be fair, I run into many men in Scripture who don’t have names. There’s Centurion; Man born blind; Man, Crippled; Man, Possessed; Man, Young; Man, Old; Messenger, Amalekite, and so on. There’s the whole book on the history

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While Scripture has fewer women than men as characters, a book whose protagonist is the Bridegroom would never have become history’s best-seller without a commensurately compelling Bride.

of the kings: one damned king after another.

If someone gets his name in the Bible, there’s a good chance it’s because he screwed up royally, spiritually, eternally.

However, there is more to the name question than quibbling over tallies. Indexing demonstrates that in Scripture more of the characters are men, but when we cherchons la femme, our attention is called to aspect rather than number.

Certainly, behind David are at least eight wives, ten concubines, and a particular nuisance of a sister (via, ahem, her sons) directly influencing his piety, politics, and popularity. But the index shows an imbalance of entries whose personal significance is unequal between the sexes: Barrenness; Childbirth; Concubine; Harem; Menstruation; Nursing; Pregnancy; Prostitution; Rape. Even the things with an equal absolute occurrence between individual men and women do not make an equal impact upon the men and women involved. Leaving out

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everything with a direct opposite sex counterpart (like Man/Woman, Father/Mother) and the theologically daedal matter of circumcision, the closest masculine analogues my indexes have are . . . Eunuch.

The eunuch matters. He epitomizes a number of masculine crosses: the child born deformed, the adolescent whose development progresses wrongly, the unwillingly unmarried man, the homosexual man, the husband in an infertile marriage. The world can now correct the eunuch’s situation, either surgically or socially, to the extent that most contemporary readers will fail to see his ongoing relevance. But those whom the world fails in this regard would be well directed to Isaiah 56.

How much more, then, does Scripture acknowledge the female biological and social experience? The Bible is on the ground floor of arguments as to whether breastfeeding rooms at the state fair protect or ghettoize

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mothers, or if women should get time off work every twenty-eight days. Feminine themes are pushed particularly hard in the prophetic books, although many are naturally opaque or even offputting to men. Scripture is also relentless in casting believers as the Bride of Christ. That men find a place for themselves in this mystery has some mystery of its own (and maybe a lesson for exacting talliers as well). Scripture takes intellectual risks for both sexes.

The difference between men and women is not simply one of immediate function but timeless purpose. No watchdog of scriptural sexism has missed what Jesus said about the woman who anointed his feet: “‘Verily I say unto you, Wheresoever this gospel shall be preached in the whole world, [there] shall also this, that this woman hath done, be told for a memorial of her’” (Matt. 26:13 KJV).

It’s a pretty lousy memorial with no name on it, unless there is only one name that really matters: Christian. Every nameless woman (and man) in Scripture demonstrates that when Christ becomes greater, those who belong to him become less. Jesus didn’t want that woman to become famous. He wanted that confession of faith to become famous. If we are dissatisfied by this message, we might be showing how much we need it.

Grasping for influence and recognition runs absolutely counter to humility, the defining mark of the Christian life. The Lord could have given a simpler order to our indexes and more name options for our baby girls. He could have told us the name of the Samaritan woman, the hemorrhaging woman, the woman of Tekoa, and Manoah’s wife. But would we have treated them better than we’ve treated other famous Bible women? Priscilla, Lydia, Phoebe and others who receive as little as one line of Scripture have been “extreme-makeovered” into sedes doctrinae for pet causes of overwhelming interest to female “influencers” within the church. We like women of the Bible because of what we imagine them to show about women, instead of what they show about the forgiveness of sins for Christ’s

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sake. Meanwhile, “the wise woman of Abelbeth-maacah” fails on aesthetics as a token for “you-go girl-ism.” Whereas if those who could afford to get graduate degrees in theology are a minute subset of this Old World’s women, is that so bad?

If Scripture’s female characters seem underdeveloped, readers have a few options. They can reject the authority of Scripture on the basis of content. They can say that Scripture’s style stinks and hold their noses all the way to heaven.

Or they can hold neither the style nor the content of Scripture to be historical accidents.

Scripture’s direct speaking to the female side of the human experience is there just as deliberately as many women’s names aren’t. That absent names get contemporary attention has the beneficial effect of reorienting our thinking away from pride of place and Girl Power.

The household gods of radical individualism are public accomplishment, representation, and attention. Should Christian women discomfit men by way of girl-privilege so we can keep hiding these idols in our saddles? This is where indexing gets meta. Indexers’ names do not normally appear with their work, but every index is smudged with its maker’s personal vocabulary and conceptual cow paths. It’s a handy metaphor for that thing we all know: We matter most to the little people, places, and things nearest to us. Female characters are comparatively underdeveloped in Scripture. They served the Lord better by being good neighbors than by getting a bunch of entries in some commentary index.

That’s a lesson we children of our time need more than another strong female cast.

REBEKAH CURTIS received her master’s in exegetical theology from Concordia Seminary. She is a professional indexer for Concordia Publishing’s scholarly Concordia Commentaries. She has written for Modern Reformation, Chronicles, Touchstone, Salvo, and Lutheran Forum, and for websites including First Things, Front Porch Republic, The Behemoth, Babble, and The Imaginative Conservative. An article she wrote for The Cresset received an Award of Excellence from the American Church Press in April 2018.

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A Review of Insider Jesus: Theological Reflections on New Christian Movements

by Basil Grafas

nsider Jesus: Theological Reflections on New Christian Movements by William A. Dyrness (IVP Academic, 2016) is a significant book. It received Christianity Today’s 2017 Book of the Year Award of Merit, which signifies a couple of things. First, it means that the book was recognized for merit (we will look more carefully into whether such recognition was deserved). Second, and equally as important, the award says something about what Christianity Today values—something that

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should be of great interest to any evangelical.

Christianity Today has spent most of its existence as evangelicalism’s periodical of record.

Therefore, to reward Dyrness’s effort may tell us something of the current state of evangelicalism.

I think it does, and that makes “insider movements” significant to all evangelicals, not simply those who delve into the depths of missions. [An “insider,” according to Dyrness, is a person “from a non-Christian background who has accepted Jesus as Lord and Savior but retained the socioreligious identity of his or her birth.”—Ed.]

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The book is also important because it marks a departure from most other books that endorse insider movements. It is different because it attempts a focused theological defense of the practice. It incorporates the opinions of theologians, not simply missiologists. In other words, advocacy for insider movements has typically been addressed by missiologists and missionaries, not by theologians. When it was addressed by theologians, it was generally in criticism of the practice. Dyrness changes the pattern by proposing theological support for insider movements.

Third, it is important because Dyrness attempts a broad-based support of insider movements by working in the contributions of anthropology, history, hermeneutics, and systematic theology. He weaves a web of support for this family of ideas. These form the front end for the second major section of the book dealing with anecdotal stories. Most prior treatments started with phenomena and then attempted to find biblical or other justification for them.

Dyrness is different, and those of us concerned

Who are you?

Who is anyone? And who decides? Insider movements deal with the issue of identity far more than anything else.

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about missions should take special note of that. The implications of this are immense and historic. Insider movements are not simply presented as acceptable applications of conventional evangelical beliefs or expressions of great successes bubbling up all over the world (contra Greeson, Garrison, and so on). Rather, Dyrness leads with an unconventional, unorthodox theological framework for supporting insider movements. The stakes are enormous if that is the case. If adopted, it means the substitution of evangelical orthodoxy with a counterfeit.

The author introduces us to what he intends by the descriptor “insider.” As he states on page 1, “I have in mind movements among people in Islam who call themselves Muslim believers in Isa al Masih” (the Islamic equivalent of “Jesus the Messiah”). He places this phenomenon in a larger context, citing Scott Moreau’s definition of insider movements as “movements to obedient faith in Christ that remain integrated with or inside their natural community” (133).

Missiology is alive with euphemisms. Natural communities or birth cultures generally work out to mean one’s original birth religion. So a “natural community” equates to Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, or another faith system.

In books such as these, social sciences pull a lot of freight. The underlying issue concerns one of identity. Who are you? Who is anyone? And who decides? Insider movements deal with the issue of identity far more than anything else.

People who present insider movements as contextual decisions or as missions pragmatics, for example, do not understand what is at stake. As he progresses through his argument, Dyrness demonstrates that his understanding of identity is one that is overwhelmingly formed culturally and decided on individually.

He begins his work by addressing the role of contextualization and its rise to prominence in Christianity. The key to understanding these changes is the Reformation. According to Dyrness, the influences that determined and shaped identity shrank under Protestantism from a holistic shaping of personhood (elements

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that engaged the whole person) under the influence of liturgical elements such as rosaries, icons, and processions, to the Reformation’s attempt to shape personhood by focusing on the written and spoken word expressed in preaching, the use of catechisms, and reading Scripture and prayer books. The author sums up the changes by stating that a focus on the whole person shifted to one more exclusively of head and heart. In his view, the external was replaced by the internal.

The result was the reduction of religion to “an inward and personal . . . affair” (7).

In an interesting history of intellectual development, Dyrness traces changes from the Reformation’s “blowing up” the world that was, to a growing understanding of cultural influence that led step by step from embracing contextualization to local theology and intercultural theory. The changes were breathtaking, and so is the author’s embrace of them. Along the way, we quickly move through the search for a “supracultural” gospel core that could be isolated from the cultural baggage within the New Testament, to rethinking our own faith system through a study of other faith systems, and finally “intercultural theology” that equates missions to hermeneutics. Religious dogma is recontextualized in the “free space” between missionary and listener (18). The Holy Spirit superintends the process as two faith systems (religions) listen to and become open to one another. Missions, then, becomes an interpretive process that brings two different faith systems together in order to see what the Spirit does in their midst. This is a key feature, not simply of Dyrness’s approach, but of the entire insider movement approach.

The Spirit stands at the intersection of peoples and religion. The Spirit serves as a fundamental change agent.

Building on this theology of the Holy Spirit, Dyrness shapes his case for insider movements by changing the entire missions dynamic from confrontation by the gospel to mutual change and mutual learning, from message to mutual metamorphosis. One is not left with an inviolable, eternal truth but with relationships that

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Dyrness replaces the clarity of Christ with the muddle that requires constant local reinterpretation of the gospel.

can be shared and that change everyone. It is an ongoing work of creation and renewal.

He supports this idea by claiming that Jesus’ own attitudes toward Judaism were unclear.

They were? Anyone with a modicum of understanding of the covenantal framework of Old Testament Israel and the inclusion of the Gentiles would understand what Jesus thought.

Dyrness’s end-game emerges. He, unlike Timothy Tennent and others, does not see an imperative for believers to separate themselves from their previous pagan identity. Now he shows his hand. The cultural analysis, historical reconstruction, hermeneutics, and the like all serve to enforce this point crucial to the heart of the insider enterprise.

Dyrness replaces the clarity of Christ with the muddle that requires constant local reinterpretation of the gospel. There is therefore no clear message. The author stops long enough to assure the reader that he has not ignored the Fall and sin, but he is equally quick to assert that the Fall is not at the center of

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It is the modernist-postmodernist phenomenon of disciplinary fragmentation that leverages his ideas.

Anthropology, for example, moves from being a descriptive discipline that focuses on the lives of communities into a definer of theology, as missiologists often live entirely isolated from the perspectives of history and theology.

the human story. It is, therefore, a fact, but not an essential one. He goes further. All major religions deal with the consequences of human sin, and their responses are all incomplete, to include Christianity. Once again, it is the Spirit who comes to the fore, working in all religions and cultures to call people to Christ. Obviously, we have moved a great distance from the idea of one unique, objective truth for the world to something akin to process thinking that concentrates significance in an interpretive community. In general, Dyrness adopts a particular anthropological gloss on his interpretation of the Old and New Testaments. That places him in good company with Ralph Winter and other lesser luminaries of the insider approach.

It is the modernist-postmodernist phenomenon of disciplinary fragmentation that leverages his ideas. Anthropology, for example, moves from being a descriptive discipline that focuses on the lives of communities into a definer of theology, as missiologists often live entirely isolated from the perspectives of history and theology. In other words, it is the

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fragmentation that enables the social scientist to “create theology and meld it to practice.” As these fielded theologies become commonplace, they are then presented back to the academies as fact. The entire practice of traditional theological checks and balances are thereby bypassed. Through the new detours and redirection of traffic, evangelical theology changes.

Here are some of the most significant assertions from Dyrness: 1. He disagrees with the distinctiveness of Jewish religion as opposed to the religions of the nations.

2. “Christian witness is, among other things, an interpretive process in which each side becomes open and explores the proposals of the other” (18).

3. Scripture does not function as a valid criterion for evaluating other religions if their texts and teachings are not also consulted.

4. Christ never required a definition of the Christian faith. He only urged the disciples to make disciples (22).

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5. “We need to move beyond contextualization to the celebration of the diverse places where the gospel is being interpreted and lived out, and where we can begin to learn from and correct one another in love. This involves . . . a change of focus from the ‘message’ that we carry . . . to the presence and activity of God in these places” (27).

6. “If it is true that religious traditions reflect a response, however incomplete (or even misguided), to God’s call, they must be in some way capable of being included in God’s project of renewing and restoring the earth” (39).

7. Every religion has a struggle between good and evil going on, and every religion has something to celebrate.

8. “It is the Spirit that works in human cultures (and religions) to move people to call Jesus Lord” (1 Cor. 12:3) (41).

9. Believers are not extracted from their religious settings to become members of the church.

10. The religious clean break with the past is a legacy of the Reformation.

11. A new birth theology owes as much to its American setting as it did to its assumption of Western cultural superiority.

12. The emerging church is as much a goal as it is a reality.

13. Muslims’ dhimmi context is an insurmountable barrier to conversion.

14. “At his deepest being and self, God hears the call of the minaret, Temple chants, Buddhist prayers as human aspirations for relationship with the divine. The Christian message is that Jesus is the human face of God welcoming all true religious aspirations” (143).

This is obviously not your mother and father’s evangelicalism.

That leads to a final observation. Books such as this gain traction within the Western evangelical world owing to a certain naivete. We buy

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the books based on an assertion that the “insider movement” works. We are told that by adopting this approach, missionaries are able to convert many more people to Christ. This simply is not true. In my fifteen years of field experience, I have met painfully few nationals who even took the concepts seriously. In fact, I submit that Muslims, Hindus, and the like are not those being evangelized at all by those who embrace the insider movement. It becomes increasingly obvious that the target group—the people who need conversion—is you and me. According to the labors of Dyrness and those on whom he relies for his argument, normal conservative evangelicals from a variety of Protestant traditions need to change and get in step with the ongoing advance of postmodern thinking.

Christianity is beset by a unified front of postmodern pied pipers, each of whom vies to convince us that there are no authorities more credible than the individual: we are our own interpreters; we decide who we are and to whom we belong. There is a deep dishonesty in this practice. Dyrness, under the cover of anti-rationalist community identity, replaces objective Christianity with a customized identity that resides ultimately in us alone. We decide who we are. We decide what we are. We decide where we belong.

Make no mistake, there is an active onslaught against traditional Christianity, and it is focused on Christianity’s weakest link— evangelicalism. The guts, the machinery of evangelicalism, have rotted away and are being replaced, piece by piece, by a belief system hostile to the entire reformational enterprise.

The church therefore has two choices that may lead to survival. It can either confront and reject these new practices as being, at heart, non-Christian, or it can reject evangelicalism.

Insider movements represent the subversion of traditional Christianity, and evangelicals must repudiate them or die.

BASIL GRAFAS is the pen name for an American missionary working overseas.

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And so as Christians in the twenty-first century, we can know that since Jesus’ word endures, these worldview conflicts do and should happen in the world and even in the church.”

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READING THE SIGNS: JESUS IN THE GOSPEL OF JOHN

JESUS’ AUTHORITY

CONFLICT IN THE GOSPEL OF JOHN

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I

READING THE SIGNS: JESUS IN THE GOSPEL OF JOHN

by Anthony T. Selvaggio

n 2002, M. Night Shyamalan released his film Signs, starring Mel Gibson and Joaquin Phoenix. It told the story of a former Episcopal priest turned farmer who one morning discovers a crop circle in his cornfield. The film eventually reveals that similar crop circles have appeared throughout the world, ultimately proving to be signs of an alien invasion of Earth.

Although not quite as dramatically, we encounter signs regularly in our daily lives. In fact, it would be difficult to function without them. They help us to drive safely, to find the right elevators in the hospital, and to navigate our way through the motor vehicle department.

Signs perform a useful and helpful function in our daily lives: they convey important information and point beyond themselves to an ultimate destination.

Signs also play a significant role in the Bible.

As with the signs we encounter in our daily lives, the signs we find in Scripture are meant to convey information to us and to point beyond themselves. In the case of the biblical signs, however, the information conveyed is not merely how to find the right elevator or to locate the proper exit on the expressway. Instead, the biblical signs convey vital spiritual truths about the nature of God and, in the case of the signs found in John’s Gospel, the person and work of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. The focus of this article will be on understanding the purpose of the signs in John’s Gospel, but in order to do that we need to first step back into the Old Testament and explore how signs functioned in that context.

THE PURPOSE OF SIGNS IN THE OLD TESTAMENT The reason we need to start in the Old Testament is because that is the theological milieu of the mindset of the human author of John’s Gospel.

We can witness the apostle John’s deep connection to the Old Testament in the very first verse of his Gospel, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John begins his Gospel by echoing the

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opening verse of Genesis. A careful reader of his Gospel will note that John makes many other connections to the Old Testament, including references to the liturgical festivals and ceremonial laws of Israel. Thus, when John uses the motif of signs in his Gospel we can rightly assume his understanding is built upon what is revealed to us in the Old Testament.

There are two areas in the Old Testament where signs figure prominently: the book of Exodus and the prophets. While signs are operative in both of these areas, they function somewhat differently in each of them. When one studies the signs in Exodus, it becomes immediately apparent that they have a “shock and awe” nature to them. These signs, such as the plagues upon Egypt, represent miraculous displays of God’s power and demonstrate that God is more powerful than all the false gods of Egypt. These signs have a threefold purpose: to authenticate Moses as God’s appointed human leader (both to Israel and to Pharaoh), to scare the Egyptian adversaries, and to comfort the frightened Israelites. These signs are similar to a modern big-budget, special-effects laden blockbuster movie. The “wow” factor of the signs in Exodus is emphasized by the use of the phrase “signs and wonders” to describe them (see Exod. 4:28–30; 7:3; 10:1–2; 14:11, 22).

When we turn to the prophets, however, we notice that they serve a more focused and narrow purpose. Instead of the big-budget special effects of the signs and wonders of Exodus, we encounter relatively low-budget and mundane signs. For example, the prophet Isaiah walked naked and barefoot for three years as a “sign” of judgment against the nations of Egypt and Ethiopia (Isa. 20:3). Similarly, in Ezekiel’s prophecy, an iron pan is used as a sign to Israel (4:1–3). It is hard to argue that a naked old prophet and a common cooking vessel could qualify as miraculous or serve to create a “shock and awe” effect. So what is their purpose? They serve to authenticate the prophet in question as God’s appointed and sent messenger to his people. Even the bigbudget “signs and wonders” of the Exodus perform this function as they authenticate

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Moses’ role as God’s human servant to lead his people out of bondage in Egypt.

Signs in the Old Testament could be miraculous or mundane, but the common thread is that they were used by God to authenticate his human messengers whom he appointed to advance the story of redemptive history and to provide salvation to his people. It is very likely that John had this understanding in mind when, under the inspiration of the Spirit, he authored his Gospel. Let’s turn now to discerning the purpose of the signs in the Gospel of John.

THE SIGNS OF JOHN’S GOSPEL Even a casual reader of the New Testament will quickly recognize how different John’s Gospel is from those of Matthew, Mark, and Luke (the “Synoptic Gospels”). The content, literary structure, vocabulary, chronology, and theological emphases of John’s Gospel are all unique in comparison with the Synoptics. The Gospel of John lacks many things that the Synoptic Gospels include, such as the nativity story, the temptation by Satan in the wilderness, the narrative parables, extensive teaching on the kingdom of God, the Sermon on the Mount, the Olivet Discourse, and a detailed account of the Lord’s Supper. On the other hand, John includes things that the Synoptic Gospels lack, including the “I am” sayings of Jesus, the Farewell Discourse and—the one that pertains most to our discussion—the signs of Jesus. The signs of Jesus play a prominent role in the argument, theology, and structure of the Gospel of John. In order to understand these signs better, we will first identify the specific signs found in John’s Gospel and then we will turn to understanding their purpose.

THE SEVEN (?) SIGNS OF JOHN’S GOSPEL Andreas J. Köstenberger (who currently serves as research professor at Midwestern

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Baptist Theological Seminary in Kansas City, Missouri) is perhaps the finest living conservative evangelical scholar working in the area of Johannine studies. Most of what I know about John’s Gospel, and particularly the signs in it, 1 is derived from Dr. Köstenberger’s work. As he begins his discussion of these signs in his wonderful work A Theology of John’s Gospel and 2 Letters, he notes an oddity about the scholarship pertaining to them. He points out that while studies on the signs are “legion,” there is “no treatment of the exact number and iden3 tity of the Johannine signs.” In other words, while there is a vast amount of extant academic literature on the Johannine signs, there is no consensus on how many there are!

While there is no consensus on the exact number, there is broad consensus regarding the identification of six particular signs. It is nearly universally accepted that the following qualify as Johannine signs: 1. Turning water into wine (2:1–11) 2. Healing the nobleman’s son (4:46–54) 3. Healing the lame man (5:1–15) 4. Feeding the multitude (6:1–15) 5. Healing the blind man (9) 6. The raising of Lazarus (11)

THERE ARE SOUND EXEGETICAL REASONS TO SEEK A SEVENTH SIGN IN JOHN’S GOSPEL BASED ON THE REVELATION OF THE GOSPEL ITSELF. MODERNREFORMATION.ORG

Since scholars agree on these six signs, why don’t we just stop there with this consensus position and say there are six signs in John’s Gospel? Well, there is certainly a pattern in the Bible regarding the completeness and perfection of the number seven, and when one looks at that list it is one shy of the mark. It would be wrong, however, to simply suggest that those seeking a seventh sign are misguided by a wrong-headed biblical quest for this magic number of seven. There are sound exegetical reasons to seek a seventh sign in John’s Gospel based on the revelation of the Gospel itself. Most prominent among these reasons, as Köstenberger notes, is the importance John places on the number seven, particularly in his purposeful recording of seven of Jesus’ “I am” 4 sayings. Accordingly, there is good evidence to think that a seventh sign is present in the

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Clearly, the clean was a public act is also referred t account as rec

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sing of the temple of Jesus, and it o as a sign in the orded by John.

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Gospel of John. But how do we identify this mysterious seventh sign?

The best way to identify the seventh sign of John’s Gospel is to act like a detective attempting to determine whether the same killer is responsible for a series of murders. This detective will look at the series of individual murders and then identify the common themes among them. We can use a similar methodology to identify the seventh sign of John’s Gospel: all we need to do is to ascertain what the six consensus signs have in common. Köstenberger employed this methodology in his research and concluded that the six signs have the following three things 5 in common: 1. All six of the consensus signs represent public actions of Jesus; 2. All six of the consensus signs are explicitly referred to as “signs” in the text; and 3. All six of the consensus signs direct the reader’s attention to the glory of God revealed in Jesus Christ and serve to publicly authenticate Jesus as God’s chosen representative.

If we take these three criteria and use them to examine the “line-up” of potential suspects for the seventh sign, the one that best fits the profile is Jesus’ cleansing of the temple in John 6 2:13–22.

Clearly, the cleansing of the temple was a public act of Jesus, and it is also referred to as a sign in the account as recorded by John.

Admittedly, this occurs indirectly in the text, but nonetheless the designation of the event as a sign is there, particularly in Jesus’ exchange with the temple officials in 2:18–19, “So the Jews said to him, ‘What sign do you show us for doing these things?’ Jesus answered them, ‘Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up’” (emphasis mine). Finally, Jesus’ cleansing of the temple and his words symbolically connecting the temple to his own body both point to his own death and resurrection.

In John’s Gospel, the glory of Jesus Christ is seen most vividly in his crucifixion. Thus the cleansing of the temple, like the other six

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JESUS’ CLEANSING OF THE TEMPLE AND HIS WORDS SYMBOLICALLY CONNECTING THE TEMPLE TO HIS OWN BODY BOTH POINT TO HIS OWN DEATH AND RESURRECTION. VOL.28 NO.2 MAR/APR 2019

signs, ultimately points to Jesus’ glory and authenticates him as one who has authority over God’s house. John even intrudes into the account as the narrator to remind us that, after Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples grasped the true meaning of this sign: “When therefore he was raised from the dead, his disciples remembered that he had said this, and they believed the Scripture and the word that Jesus had spoken” (2:22).

The other main contender for the seventh sign among biblical scholars is the resurrection of Jesus. I remain unpersuaded by the arguments offered for this position, particularly because the resurrection is not a sign that points beyond itself, but rather is the destination to which all the other signs direct the reader. In other words, the resurrection of Jesus is not a means to an end, like the other signs, but is the end in itself.

If we accept the cleansing of the temple as the seventh sign, then this results in the raising of Lazarus being the final and culminating sign. That seems theologically and exegetically appropriate. First, this sign occurs in John 11 at the end of the first section of the Gospel (John 1–12), which many scholars refer to as the “book of signs.” Essentially, the pivot of John’s Gospel, from a structural perspective, occurs in John 12 as Jesus ends his public ministry and enters Jerusalem for his trial, crucifixion, and ultimate resurrection. Second, Jesus’ raising of Lazarus unequivocally points to Jesus’ own resurrection. Thus the culminating sign (the raising of Lazarus) points to the culminating event in John’s Gospel and all redemptive history (the resurrection of Jesus).

THE TWO MAIN PURPOSES OF THE SEVEN SIGNS Having identified the seven signs, let’s move to the more important question: What is the significance of these seven signs of John’s Gospel?

Why did John include them and make them central? What spiritual truths do we glean from them? What is their purpose? I am convinced that the seven signs serve two main purposes.

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Purpose #1: To Authenticate the Ministry of Jesus and Reveal His Glory This purpose brings us full circle to the purpose of signs in the Old Testament. Like the signs of the Old Testament, the signs of John’s Gospel serve to authenticate the divine messianic ministry and message of Jesus. Earlier in this article, we briefly surveyed the signs in the Old Testament and learned that one major concentration occurred during the Exodus, the time of Moses. Moses was, of course, the mediator of the old covenant, and God used signs to authenticate his ministry. Accordingly, it should come as no surprise that signs would play a significant role to authenticate Jesus, the mediator of a new and better covenant. Jesus is the promised prophet who is like Moses, but who surpasses Moses in 7 glory and greatness (Deut. 18:18).

While the seven signs of John’s Gospel share a similar purpose to the signs of the Old Testament, there is one stark and important difference between them: unlike the signs performed by Moses and the prophets, the signs Jesus performed not only testify to the divine authenticity of his message, but they also testify to the reality that Jesus is the divine message. The seven signs of Jesus in John’s Gospel serve not only to verify that Jesus’ spoken words are the very word of God but also to authenticate that Jesus is, ontologically and personally, the very divine Word of God (John 1:1). Thus, when Jesus performed his seven signs, he declared something about himself that Moses could never claim. By means of these signs, Jesus claimed his rightful title: the Son of God. Jesus used signs to authenticate his ministry and to reveal his glory.

When Jesus performed his signs, he consistently directed people not to focus on the sign itself but rather on what the sign signified. At Cana of Galilee, where he turned water into wine, the point wasn’t to enjoy a good glass of wine but rather to see Jesus as the promised messiah—the one who brings joy and who will host his own wedding banquet with his bride. Jesus used these signs to signify who he is, what he had come to accomplish, and to

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THE SEVEN SIGNS OF JESUS IN THE GOSPEL OF JOHN

THE SIGN

THE THING SIGNIFIED

T U R N I N G WAT E R I N TO W I N E ( 2 : 1 – 1 1 )

Jesus is the Messiah who inaugurates the new covenant order and brings joy.

CLEANSING THE TEMPLE (2:12–17)

Jesus is the Suffering Servant who builds the new temple of the church through his death and resurrection.

HEALING THE NOBLEMAN’S SON (4:46–54)

Jesus is the Son of God who grants life by the word of his power.

HEALING THE LAME MAN (5:1–15)

Jesus is the Son of God who renders people spiritually whole.

F E E D I N G T H E M U LT I T U D E ( 6 : 1 – 1 5 )

Jesus is the bread of life who is sovereign over the gift of eternal life.

HEALING THE BLIND MAN (9)

Jesus is the light of the world who gives sight to the spiritually blind.

THE RAISING OF LAZARUS (11)

Jesus is the Son of God who rules over death and gives life to the spiritually dead.

demonstrate to the people their desperate need of him as their Savior. Therefore, each of the seven signs serves the purpose of signifying something about the reality of who Jesus is and what he came to do. The chart above summarizes the relationship between the things signified by each of the seven signs in the 8 Gospel of John.

One of the purposes of these seven signs is to authenticate the ministry of Jesus and to reveal his glory. Through these signs, Jesus Christ demonstrated who he is and what he came to do.

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Purpose #2: To Persuade People to Believe in Jesus Christ The second purpose of these seven signs relates to the field of apologetics. They have a persuasive purpose, which John explicitly acknowledges near the end. In 20:30, John reveals to his readers that he purposely selected a limited number of signs: “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book.” Then, in the very next verse (20:31), John says, “But these are written so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the

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Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.” John explicitly declares that he included “these” particular seven signs of Jesus so that the readers of his Gospel would “believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God” and “have life in his name.”

When Jesus performed these seven signs during his public ministry, he was making the case regarding the authenticity of his identity; and John, by recording these signs in the manner he did, makes a similar case to all who pick up and read his Gospel. Many scholars have noted the forensic and legal characteristics of this Gospel, which is replete with discourses that are meant to persuade the reader. In some ways, the Gospel of John is akin to a legal brief that sets forth an argument regarding why the reader should believe in Jesus Christ; at the center of that argument reside the seven signs. Like an able trial lawyer, John, under the inspiration of the Spirit, sifts through all the extant evidence (that is, all the many signs performed by Jesus) and selects for his argument those most persuasive for proving his case (these seven signs).

Carrying on with the legal analogy, John uses the seven signs as evidentiary building blocks with each subsequent sign adding to the cumulative weight of the evidence. The probative persuasiveness of these seven signs finds a crescendo in the final and seventh sign: the raising of Lazarus from the dead. This last sign serves as John’s closing argument to the case he is making: that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God.

THE CONTINUING CHALLENGE OF THE SEVEN SIGNS Although Jesus performed his seven signs over two millennia ago, they remain powerfully relevant and contemporary. Every time people read the Gospel of John, they are confronted anew with the power of these signs. Every time a preacher proclaims them from the pulpit, those in the pew are challenged by their enduring testimony. Even in our current age, whenever these signs are encountered water is again turned to wine, thousands are fed with the bread of life,

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and those dead in their trespasses and sins are raised to new life. The seven signs of Jesus memorialized in John’s Gospel continue to serve as credible and persuasive witnesses, authenticating who Jesus is, revealing his glory, and challenging the reader (or hearer) to believe in Jesus Christ as the Son of God. It is my hope that this article has deepened your appreciation for the seven signs and for the One to whom they point so powerfully. Most of all, I hope that the signs of John’s Gospel will achieve their intended purpose in your life: “That you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:31).

ANTHONY T. SELVAGGIO (JD, University at Buffalo School of Law; MDiv, Reformed Presbyterian Theological Seminary) is an author, lecturer, pastor, and former practicing attorney.

He currently serves as the senior pastor of the Rochester Christian Reformed Church in Rochester, New York. Most recent among his published works is Meet Martin Luther: A Sketch of the Reformer’s Life (Reformation Heritage, 2017).

1. My indebtedness to Dr. Köstenberger extends to many of the insights in this article. I am also indebted to and highly recommend the work of D. A. Carson on the Gospel of John, particularly his full-length commentary published in the Pillar series, The Gospel According to John (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1991).

2. Andreas J. Köstenberger, A Theology of John’s Gospels and Letters: Biblical Theology of the New Testament (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2009).

3. Köstenberger, 323.

4. Köstenberger, 324.

5. Köstenberger, 326–27.

6. Other candidates for the seventh sign include Jesus’ comments regarding the serpent in the wilderness (3:14–15), Jesus walking on water (6:16–21), his anointing (12:1–8), his triumphal entry (12:12–16), Jesus washing the disciples’ feet (13:1–11), his crucifixion and resurrection (18:1–19:42), his appearances after his resurrection (20:1–21:25), and the miraculous catch of fish (21:1– 14). See Köstenberger (329–33) for a full evaluation of the proposed candidates for the seventh sign.

7. In my book The Seven Signs: Seeing the Glory of Christ in the Gospel of John (Reformation Heritage, 2010), I note several parallels between the actual signs performed through Moses and those performed by Jesus. For example, God used Moses as an agent to turn the water of the Nile into blood (Exod. 7:4–24); Jesus’ first sign is turning water into wine (John 2:1–11). God fed his people through Moses with manna from heaven (Exod. 16:4-35); Jesus fed a multitude of people and declared that he is the “bread of life” (John 6:1–15).

Jesus even makes a direct connection between this miraculous feeding and the miraculous feeding of manna performed through Moses (John 6:32–33, 48–51). The major difference between Jesus and Moses, however, is that Moses possessed no inherent power to perform a sign, while Jesus as the Son of God turned water into wine by the word of his power.

8. This chart is adapted from one in my book The Seven Signs, 106–7.

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A

JESUS’ AUTHORITY

by Rutger-Jan Heijmen

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uthority is a dirty word in our current cultural moment, and perhaps even something of a joke. One need only think of that great American icon 1 Eric Cartman and his constant injunction of “respect mah authoriteh!” to recognize the depths to which this concept has sunk in the public regard.

I had a friend in seminary who was accused of having a “problem with authority” when he insisted on being treated in a manner consistent with the student handbook, rather than according to the whims of a particular professor.

The accuser may have had a point, but his story illustrates why this nine-letter word might as well have four: namely, the propensity for those who have or claim authority to abuse, distort, or interpret it for their own purposes. Speaking to his disciples in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus observes that those in authority “lord it over [others], their great ones are tyrants over them” (20:25). His words ring as true in the twentyfirst century as they did in the first. My guess is that all of us, at some point, have been victims of unjust, unkind authority, whether in our families, relationships, at school, at work or, God forbid, at church.

For these reasons, I confess some discomfort with the idea of authority, both my own and that of others. When my wife and I were first married, we had a running joke that when we found ourselves in a friendly disagreement, I would point a finger in the air and—in a 2 constrained, Thurston Howell III-esque voice— shout “submit!,” riffing off of Paul’s infamous 3 Ephesians 5 marital instruction. Thankfully, I never dared this gambit when the disagreement was anything less than trivial. Even in the context of a loving marriage, authority can feel dangerous.

When I first entered the Episcopal Diocese of Texas, I took part in a yearlong orientation that covered all manner of subjects related to ordained leadership. One of those classes was on priestly authority: what it means and how to use (and not use) it. That session made me uncomfortable. Over the course of my twenty years in ministry, I have often resisted the

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idea that I have authority and even sought, at times, to diffuse it—to let those under my care know I am “just a regular guy,” “one of them,” “the chief of sinners,” and all that. Some of this trepidation comes from my upbringing in the Northeast where, as one of my mentors once quipped, “It’s no longer safe to wear 4 your collar in Borders.” When I worked as a church planter in New York City, I hardly ever wore my clericals; and on the few occasions when I did (usually for a funeral), I noticed a marked difference in how people looked (or often didn’t look) at me. Given the recent 5 abuse scandals, I can’t say that I blame them.

Some of my unease with authority also flows from a resistance to being put on a pedestal. I am, all platitudes aside, a broken sinner, a “jar of clay” (2 Cor. 4:7), or as D. T. Niles says, “one beggar telling another beggar where he found bread.” Christian leaders have gotten themselves into heaps of trouble, both vocationally and personally, by claiming (implicitly or explicitly) to be better than they are, and I have no interest in falling into that snare. I am also a California Berkeley alum, where questioning authority is an expectation, obligation, and sport.

And yet the uncomfortable truth is that I do have authority, at least in Houston—perhaps imparted (I will save the ontological change debate of the priesthood for later or never), but definitely imputed. I am consistently shocked 6 by just how much access my collar allows me.

I can go anywhere, do just about anything.

I would be an amazing assassin. People see me differently, no matter how many times I remind them of Jesus’ words to “call no man father” (Matt. 23:9), and I have had to learn to get comfortable with the authority that has been foisted upon me. Furthermore, I have discovered that my authority can be a force for good when wielded rightly, enabling me to speak comfort, forgiveness, and peace (that is, preach the gospel) into the lives of those under my care. So, all that being said, what does Jesus have to say about authority? Might it be something of a balm to men and women who have been used and abused by those in positions of

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earthly power, as well as a corrective to tyrants and a hope for pastors?

While officiating the Lord’s Supper (or, if you prefer, celebrating the Eucharist) at a recent 7 weekday service, I was struck by the collect of the day, which was appointed for the Feast of St. James the Apostle: O gracious God, we remember before you today your servant and apostle James, first among the Twelve to suffer martyrdom for the Name of Jesus Christ; and we pray that you will pour out upon the leaders of your Church that spirit of self-denying service by which alone they may have true authority among your people; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

This is the only collect in the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer to include the word authority, and I was struck and encouraged by how that term was qualified and explained: Pour out upon the leaders of your Church that spirit of self-denying service by which alone they may have true authority.

According to this prayer, authority flows from service and self-sacrifice alone. What a different concept of authority this is from our culture and, sadly, often our churches. This is a vision of authority to which I would gladly subscribe.

In John’s Gospel, the Greek word translated as “authority” (exousia) appears eight times in five different contexts. The first is John 1, where the evangelist writes that Jesus gives authority (often translated “power”) to those who receive him, who believe in his name. What kind of authority? To teach? Preach? Cast out demons? No, to “become children of God” (v.

12). Authority in this passage is a gift of status.

Jesus gives us the authority to be loved and accepted, to be heirs, to have the same standing before God that he does, to put on his righteousness. It is not authority to do anything but simply to be.

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WHAT DOES JESUS HAVE TO SAY ABOUT AUTHORITY? MIGHT IT BE SOMETHING OF A BALM TO MEN AND WOMEN WHO HAVE BEEN USED AND ABUSED

BY THOSE IN POSITIONS OF EARTHLY POWER, AS WELL AS A CORRECTIVE TO TYRANTS AND A HOPE FOR PASTORS?

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In John 5, Jesus describes the authority given him by his Father—namely, the “authority to execute judgment” (v. 22). This is quite a claim, and his hearers must have been shocked, but Jesus doubles down in the verses that follow: “Do not be astonished at this; for the hour is coming when all who are in their graves will hear [my] voice and will come out—those who have done good, to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil, to the resurrection of condemnation.” (vv. 28–29) These are terrifying words and must be read in light of John 3:17, where Jesus tells Nicodemus, “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” This rather more encouraging verse is reinforced in John 17:2, where Jesus prays that his Father has “given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him.”

A few chapters later, someone else will claim authority, “authority [again, often translated as “power”] to release, and authority to crucify.”

But Jesus makes it clear to Pilate that his death will not be according to any earthly power but rather “from above” (19:10–11). The authority to kill and to die (and rise again!) lies only with Jesus and his Father.

This leaves one more passage, John 10, which is of utmost importance in understanding Jesus’ concept of authority in this Gospel: “I am the good shepherd; the good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep. . . . I am the good shepherd, and I know My own and My own know Me, even as the Father knows Me and I know the Father; and I lay down My life for the sheep. . . . For this reason the Father loves Me, because I lay down My life so that I may take it again. No one has taken it away from Me, but I lay it down on My own initiative. I have authority to lay it down, and I have authority to take it up again. This commandment I received from My Father.”

(John 10:11, 14–15, 17–18 NASB)

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The authority Jesus claims is not over others, to “lord it over them” (Matt. 20:25; Mark 10:42; Luke 22:25), but over himself—to lay down his life for the lives of his sheep. Jesus dispenses his authority in the exercise of sacrificial love. As he says in the Gospels of Mark and Matthew, he came not to be served but to serve; not to use and manipulate people for his own gain, but to give his life for theirs. The authority Jesus claims in John’s Gospel stands in marked contrast to that of his opponents. The Pharisees, Sadducees, and Romans used their authority to subjugate those “beneath” them—and ultimately to kill Jesus. Jesus demonstrates his authority by letting them, thus becoming a manifestation of God’s unthwartable love.

The divergence between Jesus’ and the world’s concept of authority (“right-handed power”) and Jesus’ (“left-handed power”) was explored in depth by the late Rev. Robert Farrar Capon in his indispensable book Kingdom, Grace, Judgment. He is well worth quoting at length: Direct, straight-line, intervening power [i.e. “right-handed” power] does, of course, have many uses. With it, you can lift the spaghetti from the plate to your mouth, wipe the sauce off your slacks, carry them to the dry cleaners, and perhaps even make enough money to ransom them back. Indeed, straight-line power (“use the force you need to get the result you want”) is responsible for almost everything that happens in the world. And the beauty of it is, it works. From removing the dust with a cloth to removing your enemy with a .45, it achieves its ends in sensible, effective, easily understood ways.

Unfortunately, it has a whopping limitation. If you take the view that one of the chief objects in life is to remain in loving relationships with other people, straightline power becomes useless.

Left-handed power [on the other hand— hah!] . . . is precisely paradoxical power:

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power that looks for all the world like weakness, intervention that seems indistinguishable from nonintervention. More than that, it is guaranteed to stop no determined evildoers whatsoever. It might, of course, touch and soften their hearts. But then again, it might not. It certainly didn’t for Jesus; and if you decide to use it, you should be quite clear that it probably won’t for you either. The only thing it does insure is that you will not—even after your chin has been bashed in—have made the mistake of closing any interpersonal doors from your side.

Which may not, at first glance, seem like much of a thing to insure, let alone like an exercise worthy of the name of power. But when you come to think of it, it is power— so much power, in fact, that it is the only thing in the world that evil can’t touch.

God in Christ died forgiving. With the dead body of Jesus, he wedged open the door between himself and the world and said, “There! Just try and get me to take that back!” (18–19) In reading the Gospel of John, one notices that the story of Jesus is something of a downward spiral. Verse one of chapter one begins with a glorious proclamation—an echo of Genesis but with a startling twist: “In the beginning was the Word [Jesus], and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” By chapter seven, Jesus (God) has been rejected by most of his disciples, including his own brothers, and accused of being demon possessed. In chapter fifteen, Jesus explains to his disciples why he is hated and why he will be persecuted. By the end of the Gospel, of course, he will have been rejected by all, tortured and killed. And yet the tragedy itself is a demonstration of Jesus’ authority—the authority to love, to forgive, to save, no matter what.

I remain deeply uncomfortable with and suspicious of earthly authority, its use and often abuse. But I find Jesus’ concept and practice both comforting and convicting.

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According to the Gospel of John, Jesus used his authority to make me a child of God, to grant me eternal life, to lay down his life for mine. He calls me to do the same—to dispense and demonstrate the authority he has given me through a spirit of self-denying service.

That’s the kind of authority that even Cartman could respect.

THE REV. RUTGER-JAN HEIJMEN (MDiv, Trinity Episcopal School for Ministry) is the associate rector for Stewardship, Young Adult Ministries, and Harvey Relief at St. Martin’s Episcopal Church in Houston, Texas. Previously, R-J was the founding and head minister of St. Paul’s Church on the Upper East Side of Manhattan and the New York City area director of FOCUS (Fellowship of Christians in Universities and Schools). R-J is also the cohost of Mockingbird Ministry’s biweekly podcast, the Mockingcast.

1. Eric Cartman is one of the protagonists (or perhaps antagonists) of the venerable television show South Park.

2. Thurston Howell III is the resident millionaire on Gilligan’s Island.

3. I must, of course, point out (as my wife has pointed out to me) that while Paul calls wives to submit to their husbands as to the Lord, husbands are exhorted to love and give themselves up for their wives as Christ did for the church, and that Paul begins this passage by calling for mutual submission. He said it, not me.

4. Borders was a bookstore, similar to Barnes & Noble, that went bellyup in 2011.

5. At a recent doctor’s appointment, I was asked whether I preferred to be called “pastor” or “priest.” When I responded that I didn’t really have a preference, the doctor commented that in light of recent events I might want to.

6. The clerical collar was invented in the late nineteenth century by the Rev. Donald Mcleod, a Scottish Presbyterian. My collar is a “Clericool” model, fashioned in Italy from the finest petroleum byproduct. Shy away from the latter.

7. “Collect” is a fancy Anglican/Episcopalian word for “prayer.”

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I

CONFLICT IN THE GOSPEL OF JOHN

by Matthew Richard

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t must have been quite a scene. Coins were scattered. Cattle and sheep were running.

Even the tables were overturned. And there, in the midst of this chaos . . . Jesus.

Jesus had entered the temple courts in Jerusalem and witnessed the crass commercialism of the people. There in the temple courts, bankers were charging exorbitant rates. It was a scam! A scam in the temple courts that Jesus disrupted with a whip and righteous indignation. The commotion caused by Jesus did not go unnoticed. News was quickly reported to the Jewish authorities, for that is what people do in the midst of conflict: they go to people in charge who can fix things and make things peaceable.

After hearing the news of Jesus’ zeal, the authorities approached Jesus and demanded a sign from him as a way to prove his authority or to justify why he did what he did in the temple. In response, Jesus said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days, I will raise it up.” The authorities did not understand Jesus’ response.

What we must realize is that this encounter of Jesus in the temple was the first recorded collision in the Gospel of John between Jesus and the Jewish authorities (see John 2:12–25). Indeed, this encounter must have made an impression on those in authority. It must have made waves in the water, since we read in John 3:2 that Nicodemus met with Jesus at night. Now, it is possible that Nicodemus met with Jesus at night because he did not have time during the day; however, the most likely reason for the late meeting was because Nicodemus wanted to keep his colleagues from knowing about this meeting. Nicodemus wanted to keep it quiet and keep potential reactions at a minimum.

There is something more to take note of, however, and that is what happens in John 4:1–3. We read in the early portions of John 4 that Jesus moved on from the area of Judea to Galilee. The religious leaders had tolerated John the Baptist; but since Jesus was more influential than John and had created that commotion in the temple, they were presumably becoming alarmed. So, to avoid premature conflict, Jesus neutralized the tension by leaving the vicinity of Jerusalem.

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In the first four chapters of the Gospel of John, we can identify three components: (1) conflict emerges between Jesus and the Jewish authorities; (2) due to the conflict, people resort to secrecy, silence, and fear; and (3) the conflict needs to be neutralized. It is also worth noting that we see the same components throughout the rest of the Gospel of John: conflict breaks out between Jesus and the Jewish authorities; people feel pressure to keep silent, keep their eyes to the ground, and not speak positively about him. Even Jesus operates somewhat covertly so as not to add fuel to that fire of conflict. Regardless of the secrecy, once the conflict emerges, it must be neutralized.

EXAMINING THE CONFLICT: OPPOSING WORLDVIEWS In looking closely at the conflict between Jesus and the religious leaders, we notice that the reason for the conflict between Jesus and the Jews (that is, a group consisting of nonbelieving Jews and Pharisees) is due to Jesus presenting different concepts. Jesus presented a different way of thinking and different ways of viewing reality. The Jews were buried in tradition, while Jesus embodied truth. The Jewish authorities and Jesus had different worldviews—different perceptions of reality. In other words, each viewed the world through a particular lens. As missiologist Paul Hiebert says, these lenses are deep: “They are generally unexamined and largely implicit. Like glasses, they shape how we see the world, but we are rarely aware of their presence. In fact, others can 1 often see them better than we ourselves do.”

Hiebert argues that these worldviews provide us with “mental models of deeply ingrained assumptions, generalizations, or pictures and images that shape how we understand the world 2 and how we take action.”

Looking back to Jesus and the Jewish authorities, we must note that Jesus—as truth—posed a threat to the religious leaders. More specifically, their two opposing worldviews collided.

Regarding worldviews, Hiebert writes:

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We are similarly largely unaware of our own worldview and how it shapes our thoughts and actions. We simply assume that the world is the way we see it, and that others see it in the same way. We become conscious of our worldviews when they are challenged 3 by outside events they cannot explain.

According to Hiebert, until people’s worldviews are held up in comparison with others, they are relatively unaware of their own viewpoints. The interaction with an opposing perspective of reality causes people to reflect on their own “lenses,” which makes them attentive to their points of view and in many cases brings about major conflict.

In the following instance, Jesus was not interacting with hostile Jewish authorities but with the crowds, as described in John 6. The day after Jesus miraculously multiplied fish and bread, the crowds came to him again, seeking more miraculous gifts. As a result, a worldview conflict emerged as Jesus confronted those who were seeking a mere bread king and not the bread of life. He challenged their perception of him, saying, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you are seeking me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves” (John 6:26). In this way, Jesus exposed their faulty worldviews in relationship to him.

In John 8, we see a more intense worldview conflict with Jesus as he confronted the Pharisees: “You are from below; I am from above. You are of this world; I am not of this world. I told you that you would die in your sins, for unless you believe that I am he you will die in your sins” (John 8:23–24). Again, there is a collision between two different perceptions of reality. And not only does Jesus provide a contrary way of viewing life, the world, and eternal things, but he also poses a threat to the comfortable position of the Jewish authorities.

WHY SECRECY, SILENCE, AND FEAR? There was silence from those who dared not speak openly about Jesus but who whispered

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because of their fear—such as Nicodemus in John 3. Later on, there are accounts of many other authorities who were afraid to confess Jesus due to their fear of being ostracized by their colleagues (see John 12:42). This is another important component of a worldview conflict.

Simply stated, secrecy, silence, and fear arise in worldview conflicts.

First, when there is a worldview conflict between two people in perceived positions of authority, bystanders will often keep quiet or whisper their opinions. Their silence and murmuring are often due to insecurity and uncertainty. That is to say, when no official verdict is rendered and no victor rises to the top in a worldview conflict, bystanders will often pull back, observe, and wait to express their opinions until after the dust settles.

Se cond, a s alr ea dy mentione d ab o ut Nicodemus, secrecy can be created when worldviews collide. This secrecy is not necessarily due to fear or cowardice, but—as with Nicodemus— is an employment of careful caution in the midst of conflict. The secrecy allows people to examine the arguments for themselves without being pulled into any potential back-and-forth drama.

Finally, worldview conflicts between people can also produce fear. As we see in John 12, the religious leaders enforced stern measures of possible excommunication from the synagogue of those who supported and confessed Jesus as the Savior. In other words, by inciting fear, those in religious authority attempted to deter people from joining Jesus’ side in the conflict. If the people supported Jesus, then there would be blowback from the authorities. Thus fear was used to keep lips sealed.

THE NEED TO NEUTRALIZE THE CONFLICT Once the conflict arose from conflicting worldviews between Jesus and the Jewish authorities, secrecy and silence then arose from the onlookers. But what of the conflict itself between Jesus and the religious leaders? Keep in mind that great anxiety and conflict can arise when deeply embedded worldviews are challenged by events

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and situations too difficult to comprehend.

Hiebert comments on this: To question worldviews is to challenge the very foundations of life, and people resist such challenges with deep emotional reactions. There are few human fears greater than a loss of a sense of order and meaning.

People are willing to die for their beliefs if 4 these beliefs make their deaths meaningful.

As shared by Hiebert, there will be deep emotional reactions when a person is confronted.

Furthermore, Hiebert says that there will be long-lasting and powerful themes in place to reinforce a person’s worldview when conflict arises. These themes will act as a defense mechanism, defending and reinforcing a per5 son’s particular point of view. Therefore, in the case of the Jewish authorities, we should not be surprised that Jesus’ tenets were resisted. The tension had to be resolved for the Jewish authorities, and they had to push back against Jesus to affirm their current worldview as sufficient and accurate. They could not live in an ongoing state of dissonance and worldview conflict. The conflict had to be resolved—it had to be neutralized.

Looking back to the crowd of John 6, we see a rather tame example of a worldview conflict being neutralized when people left Jesus. In John 6:60 we read, “When many of the disciples heard it, they said, ‘This is a hard saying; who can listen to it?’” Then in verse 66: “After this many of his disciples turned back and no longer walked with him.” In other words, the worldview conflict and tension were resolved and neutralized by the individuals parting from Jesus.

We notice the same thing with Jesus. When he drew near to the city of Jerusalem, conflict inevitably broke out. However, Jesus typically neutralized the conflict by departing from Jerusalem, which allowed geographical space to ease the tension. Jesus temporarily neutralized the conflict, because it was not his time to suffer, die, and rise.

The way to resolve and neutralize the conflict, however, was different for the religious leaders.

Not only did the Jewish authorities attack Jesus’

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THE ROAD BREAKS ONLY TWO WAYS WHEN ONE ENCOUNTERS JESUS: EITHER A PERSON REPENTS AND BECOMES CAPTIVE TO THE WORD, OR A PERSON PERSECUTES AND TRIES TO ELIMINATE THE ETERNAL WORD.

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character, but their zealous rage also led them to extreme, violent measures. In John 8:39–59, Jesus asserted that even though the Jewish leaders’ ancestry was of Abraham, their spiritual ancestry could be traced back to the devil. Of course, the Jewish leaders did not take this lightly and accused Jesus of being demon possessed. As a result of this intense exchange—and to neutralize the conflict—the Jewish authorities picked up stones to throw at him to kill him, for a dead Jesus would eliminate this worldview conflict.

In John 10, we see similar tactics of attempting to neutralize the conflict with Jesus when the Jewish authorities attempted to stone him again; and in John 7, 10, and 11, they tried to arrest him. To the point: a dead Jesus, or at least an imprisoned Jesus, was an adequate solution for the Jewish authorities in order to silence and neutralize a conflicting worldview.

CONCLUSION As we have seen, the conflict in the Gospel of John is characterized by three components: (1) a worldview conflict; (2) secrecy, silence, and fear; and (3) an attempt to neutralize the conflict.

What can we conclude from these three aspects?

The worldview conflict between Jesus and the Jewish leaders was irreconcilable. Therefore, the only positive and healthy resolution for the conflict was repentance on behalf of the Jewish authorities. However, since the religious leaders were not willing to repent, they chose to persecute Jesus. That is to say, the road breaks only two ways when one encounters Jesus: Either a person repents and becomes captive to the Word, or a person persecutes and tries to eliminate the eternal Word.

Secrecy, silence, and fear come about within the ethos of worldview conflict. Secrecy and silence, however, do not eliminate worldview conflicts; they merely redirect the conflict away or postpone climatic conflict to another time and place.

To neutralize worldview conflict, one has to repent of a prior worldview, withdraw from the conflict, or eliminate the opposing worldview.

In the case of the Jewish authorities, they chose

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to eliminate Jesus. He was arrested, flogged, crucified, and buried. In this way, the religious leaders thought they were able to maintain not only their comfortable worldview but also keep their place of established power. But as we know, the eternal truth—Jesus—could not be contained in the tomb. He rose. He lives. His word—the biblical worldview—will neither wither nor fade. It remains forever.

And so as Christians in the twenty-first century, we can know that since Jesus’ word endures, these worldview conflicts do and should happen in the world and even in the church. As parishioners interact with each other, there will be point of view collisions. Furthermore, as pastors preach the word and apply it to the flock, they are presenting a particular worldview that has been shaped by the truths of the Scriptures.

The grand metanarrative of the word will continually form and reform the parish. Therefore, we should not be surprised when the word comes into conflict with assumptions in the church and the world due to worldviews that have not been solely formed by the Bible. We should not be surprised when there is secrecy, silence, fear, and whispering. We should not be surprised when individuals attempt to neutralize the conflict.

Although this is how it is with humanity, Jesus will never be neutralized. Jesus will not and cannot be silenced. As the eternal Word, he cannot be muzzled. Death did not eliminate truth. The grave could not imprison truth. Jesus is alive. His word is active and sharper than any two-edged sword. Even though conflict, secrecy, silence, and attempts to neutralize will continue, Jesus’ word—his worldview—will go forth and accomplish what he desires.

REV. DR. MATTHEW RICHARD is pastor of St. Paul’s Lutheran Church (LCMS) of Minot, North Dakota. He is a graduate of Lutheran Brethren Seminary in Minnesota and Concordia Seminary in Missouri.

1. Paul G. Hiebert, Transforming Worldviews: An Anthropological Understanding of How People Change (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2008), 46.

2. Hiebert, 46.

3. Hiebert, 47.

4. Hiebert, 85.

5. Hiebert, 59.

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BOOK REVIEWS

Book Reviews 48

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Not All Dead White Men: Classics and Misogyny in the Digital Age

Letters to the Church

The Personality Brokers: The Strange History of MyersBriggs and the Birth of Personality Testing

by Francis Chan

by Donna Zuckerberg

by Merve Emre

REVIEWED BY

REVIEWED BY

REVIEWED BY

Aimee Byrd

Mika Edmondson

Leslie A. Wicke

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Not All Dead White Men: Classics and Misogyny in the Digital Age

by Donna Zuckerberg Harvard University Press, 2018 288 pages (hardcover), $27.95 he Matrix is everywhere. It’s all around us. Even now in this very room. You can feel it when you go to work, when you go to church, when you pay your taxes. It is the world that has been pulled over your eyes to blind you from the truth that you are a slave—born into a prison—for your mind. Unfortunately, no one can be told what the matrix is; you have to see it for yourself.”

—Morpheus, The Matrix

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In the Wachowski brothers’ 1999 film The Matrix, Neo is left with the choice whether to take the blue pill and wake up back in his bed, believing whatever he wants to believe— or to take the red pill, which will show him just “how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

Borrowing this red-pill-bluepill metaphor is a self-named “Red Pill” online community who claim enlightenment on the real state of the gender debate in the United States today. Flowing from their online base, the “subreddit r/ TheRedPill” forum, the Red Pill “alpha” males tend to have their own blogs, books, and disciples, whose favorite pastime is trolling those they consider to be dangerous feminists on social media. United by their common belief that white cisgender men are the true victims in contemporary feminized society, the Red Pill community has different subsets known as the “manosphere,” “Identity Evropa,” the “AltRight,” “Men Going Their Own Way” (MGTOW),

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“Men’s Human Rights Advocates” (MHRA), and “Pickup Artists” (PUA).

In her book Not All White Men: Classics and Misogyny in the Digital Age, classics professor and journalist Donna Zuckerberg shows us just how far the rabbit hole goes, examining the impact of these fringe groups and their appropriation of “the literature and history of ancient Greece and Rome to promote patriarchal and white supremacist ideology” (5). Zuckerberg advocates taking a closer look at their ideologies and tactics in order to counter the effect of their growing impact. She begins by examining the aforementioned internal factions of the Red Pill community, so we can attempt to “understand why they feel compelled to position themselves as the inheritors of the classical tradition and how the ancient world validates one of their most cherished, deeply held beliefs: that all women throughout history share distinct, immutable qualities that make them promiscuous, de ceitful, and manipulative” (14). In quoting the leading voices of these factions, Zuckerberg illustrates their tactics of frame theory, gaslighting, appropriative bait-and-switch, ideological sublimation, misuse of language of scholarly interpretation, and false equivalence, in order to show how onedimensional and inaccurate their idealized analyses of ancient texts actually are.

Important to Red Pill life in the Matrix is their concept of “game” as they look to Ovid, “the original pickup artist,” for examples on how to get any woman into bed.

Many leaders of the seduction community believe that women are designed to be sexual objects (and, later, mothers) and that any woman who cares about her education

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Had I not seen it for myself, I might not have believed the impact of these Red Pill voices. The Matrix is everywhere, including the church.

and career—or any woman who does not need validation from men—is unnatural and perverted. (93) Zuckerberg demonstrates how Red Pillers cherry-pick from the Stoics’ (particularly, ethics from the Late Stoa) self-centered path to improvement to uphold masculine superiority over women in the virtue of self-control.

Had I not seen it for myself, I might not have believed the impact of these Red Pill voices. The Matrix is everywhere, including the church.

Although Zuckerberg shares that “a few selfreported surveys within the community suggest that more than three quarters of these men have no strong religious affiliation,” there are active Red Pill “Christians.” The plethora of quotes she shares are strikingly similar to the reductive, abusive, and perverted tweets I’ve received from anonymous Red Pill Christian accounts. A now-deleted tweet by one user said that I wrote my last book as a desperate final cry for male attention, since I’m over forty and will lose my looks. The women who came to my defense were dismissed as irrelevant and their own looks were compared to mine. I was told that the only reason my opinion is tolerated in academic circles (predominantly male) is because I’m

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pretty. I have nothing valuable to contribute as a churchwoman; I’m just arm candy. While the tweets have been scrubbed, I continue to come up in discussions in the comments on their websites. It’s worse than Morpheus said—it’s not so much that a woman’s mind is imprisoned by her body; it’s that her mind doesn’t matter.

While I have tended to dismiss these Red Pillers as part of a fringe movement that shouldn’t be honored with a reply, learning more of their philosophy and goals reveals just how deep the rabbit hole is going. It was frightening to uncover the consensus in the Red Pill community regarding female consent, and downright terrifying to read about men who genuinely believe that women secretly want to be sexually conquered and that sexual abuse on all levels is therefore (at least somewhat) legitimate.

Here Zuckerberg gives what I believe is a most important insight: all of these Red Pill books, articles, and conversations about how to have sex with women may be more about these men’s fascination with securing admiration from other men than from the women they’ve objectified. Getting a woman into bed is not the point—getting the admiration and respect of other men is the point. Women are not wanted because Red Pillers are lonely

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and want companionship and unconditional love; their bodies are wanted as currency in the male-respect economy, whereby the more beautiful women a man seduces, the higher his esteem and regard in the eyes of other men. As Zuckerberg puts it: Close examination of the dynamics of the seduction community reveals that picking up women is in many ways less important than the bonds and rivalries between the community members. To an outsider, it may look like a group of men talking about women, but often the women become little more than a means to the end of establishing authority and social capital among a group of male peers. (124) This leads me to ponder something that Zuckerberg would probably not recognize as a faithful progressive feminist, and that is the connection between misogynistic cultures, such as ancient Greece and Rome, and the rise of promiscuous homosexuality among men.

As women are objectified to the point of mere animal existence (without any intellectual or spiritual life that requires the acknowledgment and respect of men), the male gaze turns more and more to himself. Red Pillers speak loudly against the homosexual community, but if the sort of stimulating and loving companionship that all humans need cannot (by their account) be found with woman—a being made to be his complement and equal (Gen. 2:18)—then to whom will they turn for that intimacy?

If women are necessary commodities in the male-respect exchange, then it follows that the man who has the most of them is the “winner.” Here, of course, Red Pillers bump up against an unfortunate obstacle: the consent of the women they’re trying to seduce. While they don’t mention it explicitly, they must be aware that most women are not lining up outside their apartment door hoping for a night of passion. But how can that be, since all women are essentially vessels of seething promiscuity

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waiting to be tapped? It must be that those who are saying that they’re not (and who have been “assaulted” by those who didn’t believe them) are lying. Zuckerberg homes in on the Red Pill obsession with false accusations of rape by interacting with different interpretations of the ancient myth of Hippolytus, connecting them with the Red Pill idea that the urge for women to “make punitive false accusations is intrinsic to female ‘nature.’ . . . [A]ll women are like that (AWALT)” (143–44). Here we see the anxieties of female sexuality and female credibility: As the Red Pill premise is that men should be making decisions for women, women really don’t have a right to claim rape in the first place. The ancient world of Greece and Rome didn’t define rape by our contemporary standards; to them, rape was more about theft of property (a crime committed by men against men), not a crime committed by a man against a woman and her right to respect for her person. It’s this faulty understanding of what constitutes a person and that person’s rights that threatens to destabilize and disintegrate Western society. “All three of these prominent Red Pill writers—Valizadeh, Anglin, and Weidmann—link female freedom (and especially sexual freedom) to the downfall of society” (179).

Despite their misappropriation by certain groups, Zuckerberg concludes that the classics are not only for wealthy white men admiring dead white men. Unlike other progressives who are fighting to replace the Western canon, she is a feminist who “enjoys and finds meaning in studying the ancient world” (187). Rather than allow the continuing perpetuation of selfappointed classicists from the Internet, she calls for a thoughtful retrieval of the classics (even when it is uncomfortable and distasteful) and critical engagement with their application in the contemporary topics of gender, race, and social justice. While I wouldn’t agree with all of Zuckerberg’s progressive social applications, I appreciate her call to engage. While most Christians would balk at the so-called Christian

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Red Pill assertions, it’s disconcerting to see how often the classics (not Scripture) are held up as exemplars for societal regulations on gender, resulting in what look like Red-Pill-lite interpretations from influential voices in both academia and popular level Christian writing, and how little these reductive—and pagan—articulations are engaged. While the retrieval of the West’s ancient tradition is a worthy task, we Christians need to ask ourselves what we are retrieving, how we’re interpreting it, and to what degree the application of that tradition is biblically faithful. Is our desire to see men and women built up in the grace and knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ—or to return to a “golden age” without the messy and uncomfortable questions we’re being forced to reckon with in our ever-mutating, oftconfusing day-to-day lives? Pushing back against so-called soft patriarchy might get me labeled as a radical progressive feminist, but not all women are like that (NAWALT).

AIMEE BYRD is the author of No Little Women (P&R, 2016)

and Why Can’t We Be Friends (P&R, 2018) and cohost of The Mortification of Spin podcast. She lives in Maryland with her husband and three children and is a member of New Hope Orthodox Presbyterian Church.

Letters to the Church

by Francis Chan David C. Cook, 2018 224 pages (softcover), $16.99 n his latest release, Letters to the Church, Francis Chan offers an impassioned plea for the church in America to rediscover the biblical priorities of the early church.

“We’ve strayed so far from what God calls Church,” he laments. “We know what we’re experiencing is radically different from the Church in Scripture. . . . We have trained people sitting in the pews to become addicted to lesser things.

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While the retrieval of the West’s ancient tradition is a worthy task, we Christians need to ask ourselves what we are retrieving.

It’s time for that to change.” Having walked away from a popular megachurch ministry and speaking platform in the States, Chan details his unlikely journey overseas to rediscover the authentic joy, expectation, and simplicity of the Christian faith. Over the nine letters that compose the book, Chan draws on hard-earned lessons, challenging the church in the United States to return to what he believes God intended it to be. As an inspiring call to action, Letters to the Church emphasizes vital gospel imperatives such as Scripture meditation, prayer, and redemptive suffering that encourage Christian maturity. However, I would suggest that Chan’s book also tends to idealize the early and persecuted church in ways that doesn’t consistently highlight the persevering grace of God at work among ordinary strugglers.

He deliberately packs his book full of Scripture, insisting that his readers slowly examine the words of the Bible as they consider the state of the modern church. Sometimes, he awkwardly encourages his readers to reread a passage they’ve just read, pointing out our common tendency to hastily skim through Scripture; other times, he invites us to have

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“an amazing time of fellowship with Jesus” as we interact with the Scriptures he lists. Chan does not trust US audiences to examine biblical citations on their own time; rather, he asks them to practice meditating on Scripture passages as they read through his book. Despite an increasingly fast-paced culture, the Lord’s people still cannot afford to scurry over the eternal words of our God. In a microwave era, marked by the rapid consumption of information, Chan’s book helpfully calls us to linger over Scripture at a slow-cooker pace.

It’s difficult to read Chan’s book without also being stirred to pray more. According to Chan, prayer measures the heart’s attitude toward dependence upon God, as well as the spiritual vibrancy of a church. He prioritizes prayer in a way seldom seen in the modern West. When he speaks of thirteen-hour impromptu prayer meetings and immediately replacing staff members who don’t pray at least an hour a day, he means to unsettle complacent Christians about taking prayer for granted.

With practical examples, Chan rightly stresses prayer as a central and oft-neglected aspect of the Christian life.

He also claims that suffering is one of the most neglected themes among American Christians. “Suffering,” he explains, “is rarely talked about in the American church.” This, he suggests, has twisted our view of Christianity and effectively crippled us. While Chan is right to highlight suffering as an important biblical theme, he is wrong to suggest that it has been rarely talked about in the “American church.” The African-American church tradition represents a notable exception to the general inability of American Christianity to deal with suffering. Redemptive suffering has remained a consistent theme within the Black

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church tradition for nearly four hundred years.

This is why the Black church gave the wider culture sacred music forms such as spirituals and gospel songs, which are distinct for their prevalent themes of hopeful suffering. Songs such as “There is a Balm in Gilead,” “We’ll Understand It Better By and By,” and “Didn’t My Lord Deliver Daniel” raise the question of theodicy, always answering with unwavering hope in the Lord’s wisdom, power, and goodness. Redemptive suffering is also a prevalent theme in the Black prayer tradition. Famous Black leaders—such as David Walker, Alexander Crummel, Maria Stewart, W. E. B. DuBois, A. D. Williams, Paul Robeson, and (most famously) Martin Luther King Jr.—all used versions of redemptive suffering in their messages and activism. The Black church has had to make sense of the horrors of the Middle Passage and 250 years of chattel slavery; Jim Crow laws and segregation; church bombings and over five thousand lynchings; economic, health, and housing disparities; police brutality; and countless other institutional and personal atrocities. Yet it has consistently affirmed God’s ability to “make a way out of no way.” Inspired by the cross of Christ, Black Christians have held to the hope that God works through faith-filled engagement with suffering to bring redemptive transformation to his people. Although Chan does well to learn from the experiences of suffering saints across the world, he would also do well to learn from suffering saints across the street. I’d suggest that any treatment of Christian suffering in the United States should at least mention the 2015 massacre of nine saints at a prayer meeting in Charleston, South Carolina. A better appreciation of the diversity of American minority Christian experiences could have strengthened

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Chan’s book considerably, since it would have highlighted what Christian suffering actually looks like in the American context in a way that more clearly resembles the persecuted church overseas.

Finally, Chan offers a somewhat idealized perspective on the early church as well as the persecuted church. While overseas, Chan says, he caught “a glimpse of what the church could be and the power it could have.” Throughout the book, he seems to assume that if Western Christians would just return to the simple purity of early church faith and practice, then we would see the greater power and glory that is so clearly evident on the pages of the New Testament. He offers something of a highlight reel of early church successes, but one wonders whether Chan romanticizes and oversimplifies the actual situation of the early church, making them out to be moral exemplars rather than persevering recipients of grace. Along with successes, the Bible also reveals the numerous struggles and failures of the early church; both the Old and New Testaments tell stories of believers who struggled with temptations, weaknesses, selfishness, materialism, fickleness, and various forms of sin every bit as modern Westerners do.

I suspect a thorough assessment of the persecuted church in the East would reveal the same thing. As James 3:2 explains: “For we all stumble in many ways.”

The good news is that God perseveres to keep his covenant promises to save and transform even weak strugglers with a strong redemption.

I believe that’s precisely the point. As we look at examples of the early church, I don’t believe the Lord is fundamentally calling us to be more like the super-saints who have it all together; rather, we are encouraged to keep fighting because we see him saving ordinary strugglers just like us.

Although we should obey the gospel imperatives that Chan highlights, we must always keep our hope tied to gospel indicatives. Christ still claims the church in America—he died for her, intercedes for her, strengthens her, and will complete the work he has begun in her. As we

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criticize its current state, we must take care not to inadvertently malign the Lord’s care of his bride. Genuine Christians cannot stray from what God calls “church,” because “church” is not something we do; “church” is something we are, by the grace of God. The same power poured out on the day of Pentecost is still at work among ordinary Christians as the word is preached, as they trust in Christ, love one another, and live for him day after day.

MIKA EDMONDSON (PhD, Calvin Seminary) is pastor of New

City Fellowship OPC, a Presbyterian church in southeast Grand Rapids, Michigan. He is the author of The Power of Unearned Suffering: The Roots and Implications of Martin Luther King, Jr.’s Theodicy (Lexington, 2016).

The Personality Brokers: The Strange History of Myers-Briggs and the Birth of Personality Testing

by Merve Emre Doubleday, 2018 336 pages (hardcover), $27.95 ntrovert,” “extravert,” “sensing,” “perceiving”—odds are you’ve encountered these terms or their source, the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI). In The Personality Brokers: The Strange History of Myers-Briggs and the Birth of Personality Testing, Merve Emre (a professor of English at Oxford University) provides a frustrating but ultimately thought-provoking account of the MBTI and its creators, Katharine Briggs and her daughter Isabel Myers. Her goal is to “understand . . . the unwavering belief in type’s ability to comprehend who we are” (xvi). While she does not entirely succeed in this, Emre’s analysis weaves together important themes of gender, religion, and personal biography. The mass of information a writer encounters never speaks with a unified voice, and the choice of which

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voices to privilege is a profound test of the historian’s skills. The story of MBTI, in particular, draws on many themes of twentieth-century American life. Emre recognizes the polyphony of her sources and seeks to do them justice by alternating between several themes.

The dominant theme throughout the first half of the book is the biography of Katharine and then of Isabel. Katharine Briggs was a moody and introspective woman, her life marked by a series of emotional and intellectual crises, from which she developed an interest in the meaningful life. She also encountered Carl Jung’s Psychological Types, from which she constructed her own theory of personality types, a precursor to MBTI. For Katharine, type was explicitly a religion, albeit one divorced from traditional concepts of the supernatural.

Her attempts to use type to help those around her, and her growing obsession with Jung himself, form a tragicomic thread in this part of the book.

Isabel, the product of her mother’s restless psychological experimentation, took only mild interest in type.

After dabbling in writing and housewifery, she was driven to her own crisis by World War II. She came to the conclusion that what civilization needed was better “specialization” of labor via an understanding of type. Isabel’s role was to adapt her mother’s ideas to a wider audience by designing an indicator of psychological type. This, of course, is the MBTI. After early interest by the OSS during the war, the indicator enjoyed waves of success in educational institutions and the business world.

Isabel devoted the rest of her life to type, refining the indicator and defending its usefulness against attempts to criticize or even scientifically validate it.

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Both Katharine and Isabel were fascinating women—their quest to save people through type was a product equally of their personalities, background, privilege, and the currents of society around them. They occasionally devolved into absurdity, but what comes through most clearly is their determination, self-assurance, and devotion. Emre, while remaining a skeptic of the MBTI, tells their story sympathetically.

She also identifies a strong religious theme in her story. As noted, Katharine used type as a source of mystical self-discovery and selfmastery, the key to an idiosyncratic personal “salvation.” Though Isabel was never as explicitly mystical as her mother, the underlying spiritual character of type persisted through all of her attempts to apply it to the modern workforce and society.

MBTI is not a traditional religion; it makes no attempt to answer questions about the origin, nature, and purpose of nonhuman reality. It provides a system for categorizing and justifying one’s self, and (at least in Briggs and Myers conception) a moral framework for meaningful life. It’s possible to understand it as one of many attempts to fill the existential gap left by the functional death of God in nineteenth- and twentiethcentury life. It is, like most of those attempts, a religion of works; salvation, as Katharine Briggs understood it, is “the reintegration of the adult personality that Jesus coveted for all mankind” (227).

Katharine considered this a good in itself, but Isabel emphasized salvation through “specialization”—the person acquires meaning by adopting the work best suited to their type. As Emre points out, it’s a framework well-suited to the hyperspecialization of industrial and postindustrial capitalism.

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Emre presents a powerful case for taking Katharine and Isabel as the prophets of a pseudo-scientific religion, bringing out the spiritual significance of seemingly unrelated aspects of type theory. She is content to leave the matter there, without fully exploring the way that type fits under the religious umbrella of secular modernity as a pseudoscientific system. In addition, she sees in Isabel, Katharine, and other women whose lives intersected with the indicator, a story about gender in twentieth-century America.

Unfortunately, this narrative thread is the weakest of the three; profound and nuanced observations about the uneasy role of these women alternate with trivial arguments and tangential anecdotes. But the Christian reader will be left with much to mull over.

For instance, the exploration of Katharine’s attempts to professionalize her motherhood reflects powerfully on the nature of both gender and the organization of labor. In the wake of America’s rapid industrialization, the work-home division, and the prioritization of economic activity, many women struggled to make sense of their role in the world. The dignity of motherhood was everywhere preached, but the reality was that women often found themselves constrained and undervalued in the private sphere. This tension ran headlong into the progressive impulse to systematize and professionalize all areas of life.

The results of these experiments—in Katharine’s case, her “Cosmic Laboratory”— proved disappointing. Emre, however, doesn’t fully explore how this came to be, either for Katharine or for women more generally, instead retreating into amusing anecdotes about Katharine’s childrearing techniques, dream analysis, and obsession with Carl Jung.

The book veers from sympathetic analysis to strained justification when it recounts Isabel’s troubled relationship with Educational Testing Service (ETS), and the lens of gender seems to be the problem. Isabel is an objectively difficult figure for the psychometricians attempting to

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validate and systematize her indicator. She indulges in crank remedies, violates professional ethics, and refuses to separate her personal crusade from the indicator. Emre’s insinuation that the conflict arose from the reflexive sexism of the ETS staff falls flat in the face of such behavior.

A return to the religious lens would make more sense of this troubled episode, where a clash between two different views of knowledge divided the participants more profoundly than the sexism of the ETS staff. The traits that alienated the scientists from Isabel are not the result of her sex but of her modernist religiosity.

The gender lens also draws Emre into a baffling discursive reasoning on the career of Ravenna Helson, a researcher who made use of the MBTI in the 1960s but who does not seem to have played a major role either in the indicator’s success or in Isabel’s life. This is not the only sidetrack. The latter half of the book, attempting to chart the life of the indicator alongside that of its creator, often doubles back on itself to trace the stories of people whose significance becomes clear only much later or simply to revel in lurid details. The antics of Truman Capote during assessment are undoubtedly entertaining, but these episodes don’t advance understanding.

The Personality Brokers is a fascinating, frustrating book. The story it tells is gripping and significant. The way in which it is told is sometimes confusing, but its explorations of personal biography, modern social organization, and religious impulses provoke reflection. Christians, especially, will find illuminating and unsettling questions about how the theory of type relates to historic Christianity. They may finish the book and decide that MBTI helps them understand the world in ways compatible with their faith—but they’ll do so with an understanding of its history, potential, and pitfalls.

LESLIE A. WICKE graduated with a degree in history from

Patrick Henry College. She is a writer and artist whose work can be found at www.leslieawicke.com and www.tbjeremiah. com. She and her husband currently live in Virginia.

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B AC K PAG E

Desperately Seeking Atonement

by Eric Landry

ou can almost create the scene from memory, having seen it played out so many times for so many different reasons. A crime is committed. The guilty one takes to the airwaves to issue a mea culpa. The crowd surges forward, intent on enacting swift and unmerciful justice. But no amount of public shaming, isolation, or loss of income can ever make up for the offense. Soon the original wrong is outpaced by social outrage, which grows more quickly than penance can be offered. Justice will never truly be complete. The debt can never really be paid. The guilty will languish while the righteous sniff out the next crime to prosecute.

Our society desperately needs atonement— the ability to rectify the wrong, to satisfy justice, to put away sin and guilt. Having excised civil religion from the common sphere, the general public no longer has the vocabulary to speak of forgiveness. At best, we forget some offenses.

The lucky few who benefit from the public’s forgetfulness warily reestablish a place in entertainment, politics, sports, or business life.

It takes more than our own forgetfulness, however, to put away sin. We need atonement.

Atonement means that sin has been paid for, justice has been done, the sinner has been redeemed, the lost has been found, the wrong has been made right. Atonement also carries with it the sense of finality: “It is finished,” Jesus said in John 19:30. And that’s what makes atonement both absolutely necessary and terribly frightening for many in our culture today.

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To be finished with sin robs us of the ability to exact ongoing retribution. The drama played out for us on our newsfeeds and television screens every day isn’t so much about the nature of the sin being committed as it is about the power to control. “Outrage porn,” as some have called it, is an exercise of force. The louder the outrage, the more potent the force.

The biblical doctrine of the atonement runs counter to every societal impulse we have. The Lamb of God pays the price for sin. The victims of sin are told by God to forgive those who have sinned against them. The sinned against and the sinners even turn out to be the same people, since no one is righteous—no, not one, as Paul says in Romans 3:10.

Occasionally the cycle is broken—real forgiveness is offered and the world takes notice.

Inevitably, the basis for that forgiveness is atonement. A grieving parent, a pastor’s widow, someone touched by undeserved tragedy and chaos speaks of God’s love, the cross of Jesus, their own need for forgiveness, and the world is shocked into paying attention by the surprise of it all.

The heart of the Christian message is still particularly relevant for our outraged culture. The preaching of the cross and the lived-out forgiveness extended by God’s people can be a powerful apologetic for a people who long for real justice but find themselves unable (and sometimes unwilling) to secure it. All we need is atonement.

ERIC LANDRY is executive editor of Modern Reformation

magazine.

VOL.28 NO.2 MAR/APR 2019

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